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LIVES 



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EMINENT CHARACTERS 



WITH 



SELECTED LETTERS 



TO 



MRS. POIZZI AND OTHERS; 



WITH 



PRAYERS. 



CQjmPOSED BY 

SAMUEL^JOHNSON, LL. D. 



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OF SUNDRY 



EMIH'ENT FEK.SOHS 






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CONTENTS 



OF 



THE TWELFTH VOLUME. 



LIVES OF EMINENT PERSONS. 

Page 

Father Paul Sarpi, 1 

Boerhaave, 8 

Blake, 34 

Sir Francis Drake, ------ 53 

Barretier, _.----.- 125 

Morin, - - - -- - - - - 135 

Burman, .-- 142 

Sydenham, "" - - 152 

Cheynel, 161 

Cave. 178 

King- of Prussia, -87 

Browne, ..--.--- 230 

Ascham, 262 

LETTERS, SELECTED FROM THE COLLECTION OF 
MRS. PIOZZI, AND OTHERS. 

Letter T. To Mr. James Elphinston, - - . 28S 

II to LIIT. To Mrs. Thrale, - - - 284 

LIV. To Mrs. Piozzi, 372 

PRAYERS COMPOSED BY DR. JOHNSON. 

Prayer on his Birth-day, September 7-18 1738, - 374 

on the Rambler, ... - - S75 

on the Death of his Wife, reposited among her 

Memorials, May 8th, 1752, - - >• ibid. 

May 6, 1752, 876 

March 28, 1754, 377 



IV 



CONTENTS. 



Prayer on the Day on which his Mother died, January 

23, 1759, 377 

March 25, 1759, - - - - - 378 

January 1, 1770, 379 

'——— January 1, 1777, ibid. 

Septenrtber ! 8, 1779, 380 

June 22, 1781, ibid. 

on leaving Mv. Thrale's Family, October 6, 1782, 381 

■■ previous to his receiving the Sacrament of the 

Lord's Supper, December 5, 1784, - - ibid. 



FATHER PAUL SARPI 



^ 



r ATHER PAUL, whose name, before he entered in- 
to the monastic life, was Peter Sarpi, was born at Venice, 
August 14, 1552. His father followed merchandize, but 
with so little success, that, at his death, he left his family 
very ill provided for, but under the care of a mother, 
whose piety was likely to bring the blessings of Provi- 
dence upon them, and whose wise conduct supplied the 
want of fortune by advantages of greater value. 

Happily for young Sarpi, she had a brother, master of 
a celebrated school, under whose direction he was placed 
by her. Here he lost no time: but cultivated his abilities, 
naturally of the first rate, with unwearied application. 
He was born for study, having a natural aversion to 
pleasure and gaiety, and a memory so tenacious, that he 
could repeat thirty verses upon once hearing them. 

Proportionable to his capacity was his progress in lite- 
rature; at thirteen, having made himself master of school 
learning, he turned his studies to philosophy and the ma- 
thematicks, and entered upon logick under Capella of 
Cremona, who though a celebrated master of that sci- 
ence, confessed himself in a very little time unable to 
give his pupil further instructions. 

* Written for the Gentleman's Magazine, for 1738. C 
VoL.XH. A 



J FATHER PAUL SARPI. 

As Capella was of the order of the Servites, his 
scholar was induced, by his acquaintance with him, to 
engage in the same profession, though his uncle and 
his mother represented to him the hardships and auste- 
rities of that kind of life, and advised him with great 
zeal against it. But he was steady in his resolutions, and 
in 1566 took the habit of the order, being then only in 
his 14th year, a time of life in most persons very impro- 
per for such engagements, but in him attended with 
such maturity of thoughts, and such a settled temper, 
that he never seemed to regret the choice he then made? 
and which he confirmed by a solemn public profession 
in 1572. 

At a general chapter of the Servites, held at Mantua, 
Paul (for so we- shall now call him) being then only 
twenty years old, distinguished himself so much in a 
public disputation by his genius and learning, that Wil- 
liam duke of Mantua, a great patron of letters, solicited 
the consent of his superiors to retain him at his court, 
and not only made him publick professor of divinity in 
the cathedral, but honoured him with many proofs of 
his esteem. 

But Father Paul, finding a court life not agreeable 
to his temper, quitted it two years afterwards, and retir- 
ed to his beloved privacies, being then not only acquaint- 
ed with the Latin, Greek, Hebrew, and Chaldee lan- 
guages, but with philosophy, the mathematicks, canon and 
civil law, all parts of natural philosophy, and chymistry 
itself; for his application was unremitted, his head clear, 
his apprehension quick, and his memory retentive. 

Being made a priest at twenty-two, he was distinguish- 
ed by the illustrious cardinal Borromeo with his confi- 
dence, and employed by him on many occasions, not 
without the envy of persons of less merit, who were so 
far exasperated as to lay a charge against him, before 
the Inqusition, for denying that the Trinity could be 



FATHER PAUL SARPI. S 

proved from the first chapter of Genesis; but the accu- 
sation was too ridiculous to be taken notice of. 

After this he passed successively through the digni- 
ties of his order, and in the intervals of his employmeqt 
applied himself to his studies with so extensive a capa- 
city, as left no branch of knowledge untouched. By him, 
Acquapendente, the great anatomist, confesses that he 
was ijiformed how vision is performed; and there are 
proofs that he was not a stranger to the circulation of 
the blood. He frequently conversed upon astronomy with 
mathematicians, upon anatomy with surgeons, upon me- 
dicine with physicians, and with chymists upon the ana- 
lysis of metals, not as a superficial enquirer, but as a 
complete master. 

But the hours of repose, that he employed so well 
•were interrupted by a new information in the Irquisition 
where a former acquaintance produced a letter written 
by him in cyphers, in which he said, " that he detested 
?' the court of Rome, and that no preferment was obtain- 
" ed there but by dishonest means." This accusation, 
however dangerous, was passed over on account of his 
great reputation, but made such impression on that 
court, that he was afterwards denied a bishoprick by 
Clement VHI. After these difficulties were surmounted, 
Father Paul again retired to his solitude, where he ap- 
pears, by some writings drawn up by him at that time, 
to have turned his attention more to improvements in 
piety than learning. Such was the c^re with which he 
read the Scriptures, that, it being his custom to draw a 
line under any passage which he intended more nicely 
to consider, there was not a single word in his New 
Testament but was underlined; the same marks of at- 
tention appeared in his Old Testament, Psalter, and 
Breviary. 

But the most active scene of his life began about the 
year 1615, when Pope Paul Vth, exasperated by some 



4 FATHER PAUL SARPI. 

decrees of the senate of Venice that interfered with the 
pretended rights of the church, laid the whole state un- 
der an interdict. 

The senate, filled with indignation at this treatment, 
forbade the bishops to receive or publish the Pope's bull; 
and convening the rectors of the churches, commanded 
them to celebrate divine service in the accustomed man- 
ner, with which most of them readily complied; but the 
Jesuits and some others refusing, were by a solemn 
edict expelled the state. 

Both parties, having proceeded to extremities, employ- 
ed their ablest writers to defend their measures: on the 
Pope's side, among others, Cardinal Bellarmine entered 
the lists, and with his confederate authors defended the 
papal claims with great scurrility of expression, and very 
sophistical reasonings, which were confuted by the Ve- 
netian apologists in much more decent language, and 
with much greater solidity of argument. 

On this occasion Father Paul was most eminently distin- 
guished, by his Defence of the Rights of the Supreme 
Magistrate^ his Treatise of Excommunications^ translated 
from Gerson, with an Aj[iology^ and other writings, for 
Avhich he was cited before the Inquisition at Rome; but 
it may be easily imagined that he did not obey the sum- 
mons. 

The Venetian writers, whatever might be the abilities 
of their adversaries, were at least superior to them in 
the justice of their cause. The propositions maintained 
on the side of Rome were these: That the Pope is iti- 
vested Avith all the authority of heaven and earth. That 
all princes are his vassals, and that he may annul their 
laws at pleasure. That kings may appeal to him, as he 
is temporal monarch of the whole earth. That he can 
discharge subjects from their oaths of allegiance, and 
make it their duty to take up arms against their sove- 
reign. That he may depos« kings without any fault 



FATHER PAUL SARPI. ~ 5 

e©mmitted by them, if the good of the church requires 
it: that the clergy are exempt from all tribute to kings, 
and are not accountable to them even in cases of high 
treason. That the Pope cannot err: that his decisions 
are to be received and obeyed on pain of sin, though all 
the world should judge them to be false; that the Pope 
is God upon earth; that his sentence and that of God are 
the same; and that to call his power in question, is to 
call in question the power of God: maxims equally 
shocking, weak, pernicious, and absurd; which did not 
require the abilities or learning of Father Paul to de- 
monstrate their falsehood, and destructive tendency. 

It may be easily imagined that such principles were 
quickly overthrown, and that no court but that of Rome 
thought it for its interest to favour them. The Pope, 
therefore, finding his authors confuted and his cause 
abandoned, was willing to conclude the affair by treaty, 
which, by the mediation of Henry IV. of France was ac- 
commodated upon terms very much to the honour of th« 
Venetians. 

But the defenders of the Venetian rights were, though 
comprehended in the treaty, excluded by the Romans 
from the benefit of it; some upon different pretences 
were imprisoned, some sent to the galleys, and all de- 
barred from preferment. But their malice was chiefly 
aimed against Father Paul, who soon found the effects of 
it; for as he was going one night to his convent, about 
six months after the accommodation, he was attacked by 
five ruffians armed with stilettoes, who gave him no less 
than fifteen stabs, three of which wounded him in such 
a manner that he was left for dead. The murderers fled 
for refuge to the nuncio, and were afterwards received 
into the Pope's dominions; but were pursued by divine 
justice, and all, except one man who died in prison, pe- 
rished by violent deaths. 

This and other attempts upon his life obliged him to 



6 FATHER PAUL SARPI. 

confine himself to his convent, where he engaged iii 
writing the history of the Council of Trent, a work un- 
equalled for the judicious disposition of the matter, and 
artful texture of the narration; commended by Dr. Bur- 
net as the completest model of historical writing, and 
celebrated by Mr. Wotton as equivalent to any produc- 
tion of antiquity; in which the reader finds " Liberty 
** without licentiousness, piety without hypocrisy, free- 
" dom of speech without neglect of decency, severity 
'< without rigour, and extensive learning without ostenta- 
'* tion." 

In this, and other works of less consequence, he spent 
the remaining part of his life, to the beginning of the 
year 1622, when he was seized with a cold and fever, 
which he neglected till it became incurable. He lan- 
guished more than twelve months, which he spent al- 
most wholly in a preparation for his passage into eter- 
nity;' and among his prayers and aspirations was often 
heard to repeat, Lord! now let thy servant defiart in fieace. 

On Sunday the eighth of January of the next year, 
he rose, weak as he was, to mass, and went to take his 
repast with the rest; but on Monday was seized with a 
weakness that threatened immediate death; and on 
Thursday prepared for his change by receiving the Viu' 
ticum with such marks of devotion, as equally melted and 
edified the beholders. 

Through the whole course of his illness to the last 
hour of his life, he was consulted by the senate in pub- 
lick affairs, and returned answers, in his greatest weak- 
ness, Avith such presence of mind as could only arise 
from the consciousness of innocence. 

On Sunday, the day of his death, he had the passion 
of our blessed Saviour read to him out of St John's Gos- 
pel, as on every other day of that week, and spoke of the 
mercy of his Redeemer, and his confidence in his merits. 

As his end evidently approached, the brethren of the 



FATHER PAUL SARPI. r 

convent came to pronounce the last prayers, with which 
he could only join in his thoughts, being able to pro- 
nounce no more than these, Esto perfietiia^ mayest thou 
last for ever; which was understood to be a prayer for 
the prosperity of his country. 

Thus died Father Paul, in the 71st year of his age: 
hated by the Romans as their most formidable enemy, 
and honoured by all the learned for his abilities, and by 
the good for his integrity. His detestation of the cor- 
ruption of the Roman church appears in all his writings, 
but particularly in this memorable passage of one of his 
letters; " There is nothing more essential than to ruin 
" the reputation of the Jesuits: by the ruin of the Jesuits, 
" Rome will be ruined: and if Rome is ruined, Religion 
*< will reform of itself." 

He appears by many passages of his life to have had 
a high esteem of the Church of England; and his friend 
'Father Fulgentio, who had adopted all his notions, made 
no scruple of administering to Dr. Duncomb, an English 
gentleman that fell sick at Venice, the communion in 
both kinds, according to the Common Prayer which he 
had with him in Italian. 

He was buried with great pomp at the publick charge, 
and a magnificent monument was erected to bis memory. 



BOEliHAAVE. 



The following account of the late Dr. BOERHAAVE, 
so loudly celebrated, and so universally lamented through 
the whole learned world, will, we hope, be not unaccep- 
table to our readers: We could have made it much lar- 
ger, by adopting flying reports, and inserting unattested 
facts: a close adherence to certainty has contracted 
our narrative, and hindered it from swelling to that bulk 
at which modern histories generally arrive. 

Dr. Herman Boerhaave was born on the last day of 
December, 1668, about one in the morning, at Voorhout) 
a village two miles distant from Leyden: his father, 
James Boerhaave, was minister of Voorhout, of whom 
his son,* in a small account of his own life, has given a 
very amiable character, for the simplicity and openness 
of his behaviour, for his exact frugality in the manage- 
ment of a narrow fortune, and the prudence, tenderness, 
and diligence, with which he educated a numerous fa- 
mily of nine children. He was eminently skilled in his- 

* " Erat Hermanni Genitor Lathie, Gi*?ece Hebraice sciens: 
peritus valde historiarum et gentium. Vir apertus, candidus, 
simplex: paterfamilias optimus amore, cura, diligentia, frugali- 
tate, prudentia. Qui non magna in re, sed plenus virtutis, novem 
liberis educandis exemplum proebuit singulare, quid exacta pur- 
simonia polleat, et frugalltas."!— C?n^. EHiK- 



BOERHAAVE. i^ 

tory and genealogy, and versed in the Latin, Greek, and 
Hebrew languages. 

His mother was Hagar Daelder, a tradesman's daugh*- 
ter of Amsterdam, from whom he might, perhaps, de- 
rive an hereditary inclination to the study of physick, in 
which she was very inquisitive, and had obtained a know- 
ledge of it not common in female students. 

This knowledge, however, she did not live to commu- 
nicate to her son; for she died in 1673, ten years after 
her marriage. 

His father, finding himself encumbered with the care 
of seven children, thought it necessary to take a second 
•wife: and in July 1674, was married to Eve du Bois, 
daughter of a minister of Leyden, who by her prudent 
and impartial conduct, so endeared herself to her hus- 
band's children, that they all regarded her as their own 

mother. 

Herman Boerhaave was always designed by his father 
for the ministry, and with that view instructed by him 
in grammatical learning, and the first elements of lan- 
guages; in which he made such a proficiency, thathe was, 
at the age of eleven years, not only master of the rules 
of grammar, but capable of translating with tolerable 
accuracy, and not wholly ignorant of critical niceties. 

At intervals, to recreate his mind, and strengthen his 
constitution, it was his father's custom to send him into 
the fields, and employ him in agriculture and such kind 
of rural occupations, which he continued through all 
his life to love and practise; and by this vicissitude of 
study and exercise preserved himself, in a great mea- 
sure, from those distempers and depressions which are 
frequently the consequences of indiscreet diligence, and 
uninterrupted application; and from which students, not 
well acquainted with the constitution of the human body, 
sometimes fly for relief to wine instead of exercise, and 

A 2 



iu BOERHAAVE. 

purchase temporary ease by the hazard of the most 
dreadlul consequences. 

The studies of young Boerhaave were about this time 
interrupted by an accident, which deserves a particular 
mention, as it first inclined him to that science to which 
he was by nature so well adapted, and which he after- 
wards carried to so great perfection. 

In the twelfth year of his age, a stubborn, painful, and 
malignant ulcer, broke out upon his left thigh; which, 
for near five years, defeated all the art of the surgeons 
and physicians, and not only afflicted him with the most 
excruciating pains, but exposed him to such sharp and 
tormenting applications, that the disease and remedies 
were equally insufferable. Then it was that his own pain 
taught him to compassionate others, and his experience 
of the inefficacy of the methods then in use incited him 
to attempt the discovery of others more certain. 

He began to practise at least honestly, for he began 
upon himself; and his first essay v/as a prelude to his 
future success: for, having laid aside all the prescrip- 
tions of his physicians, and all the applications of his 
surgeons, he, at last, by tormenting tlie part with salt 
and urine, effected a cure. 

That he might, on this occasion, obtain the assistance 
of surgeons with less inconvenience and expence, he 
was brought, by his father, at fourteen, .to Leyden, and 
placed in the fourth class of the publick school, after 
being examined by the master: here his application and 
abilities were equally conspicuous. In six months, by 
•j-aining the first prize in the fourth class, he was raised 
to the fifth; and in six months more, upon the same 
proof of the superiority of his genius, rewarded with ano- 
ther prize, and translated to the sixth; from whence it is 
usual in six months more to be removed to the university. 

Thus did our young student advance in learning and 
deputation, when, as he was within view of the tmiver- 



BOKRHAAVE. 1 1 

bity, a sudden and unexpected blow threatened to defeat 
all his expectations. 

On the 12th of November, in 1682, his father died, 
and left behind him a very slender provision for his wi- 
dow and nine children, of which the eldest was not yet 
seventeen years old. 

This was a most afflicting loss to the young scholar, 
whose fortune was by no means sufficient to bear the ex- 
pences of a learned education, and who therefore seemed 
to be now summoned by necessity to some way of life 
more immediately and certainly lucrative; but with a re- 
solution equal to his abilities, and a spirit not so depres- 
sed and shaken, he determined to break through the 
obstacles of poverty, and supply, by diligence, the want 
of fortune. 

He therefore asked and obtained the consent of his 
guardians to prosecute his studies so long as his patri- 
mony would support him; and, continuing his wonted 
industry, gained another prize. 

He was now to quit the school for the university, but>, 
on account of the weakness yet remaining in his thigh, 
was, at his own entreaty, continued six months longer 
under the care of his master the learned VVinschotan, 
where he was once more honoured with the prize. 

At his removal to the university, the same genius and 
industry met with the same encouragement and applause. 
The learned Triglandius, one of his father's friends, 
made soon after professor of divinity at Leyden, distin- 
guished him in a particular manner, and recommended 
him to the friendship of Mr. Van Apphen, in whom he 
found a generous and constant patron. 

He became now a diligent hearer of the most cele- 
brated professors, and made great advances in all the 
sciences; still regulating his studies with a view princi- 
pally to divinity, for which he was originally intended 
by his father, and for that reason exerted his utmost ap- 



12 BOERHAAVK. 

plication to attain an exact knowledge of the Hebrew 
tongue. 

Being convinced of the necessity of mathematical 
learning, he began to study those sciences in 1 687, but 
without that intense industry with which the pleasure he 
found in that kind of knowledge induced him afterwards 
to cultivate them. 

In 1690, having performed the exercises of the uni- 
versity with uncommon reputation, he took his degree 
in philosophy; and on that occasion discussed the im- 
portant and arduous subject of the distinct nature of the 
soul and body, with such accuracy, perspicuity, and sub- 
tilty, that he entirely confuted all the sophistry of Epi- 
curus, Hobbes, and Spinosa, and equally raised the cha- 
racters of his piety and erudition. 

Divinity was still his great employment, and the chief 
aim of all his studies. He read the Scriptures in their 
original languages, and when difficulties occurred, con- 
sulted the interpretations of the most ancient fathers, 
whom he read in order of time, beginning with Clemens 
Komanus. 

In the perusal of those early writers,* he was struck 

* " Jungebat his exercitiis quotidianam patinim lectionem se- 
cundum chronologiam, a Clemente Romano exorsus, et juxta 
seriem seculorum descendens: ut ^esu Chrhti doctrinam in N. T. 
rvaditam, primis patribus interpretantibus, addisceret. 

*'Horum simplicitatem sincerse doctrintc, disciplinse sanctita- 
tem, vit?e Deo dicatae integritatcm adorabat. Subtllitatem scho- 
iarum divina postmodiim inquinasse dolebat. /Egerrime tulit, 
Sacrorum interpretationem ex sectis sophistarum peti; et Plato* 
niSf Aristotelis, Thomas Aqiiinatisy Scoti; stioque tempore Cartesii, 
cogitata nietaphysica ad hiberi pro legibus, adquas castigarentar 
sacrorum scriptorum de Deo sententiae. Experiebatur acerbadis- 
sidia, ing-eniorumque subtilissimorum acerrima certamina, odia, 
amoitiones, inde cieri, foveri: adeo contraria paci cum Deo et 
homine. Nihil hie magis ilU obstabat; quam quod omnes asserant 
stcram scripturam «v9ff)T(jrot5wf loquejatem, ^(o-r^^Tfv^ explicandum 



BOERHAAVE. 13 

with the profoundest veneration of the simplicity and pu- 
rity of their doctrine, the holiness of their lives, and the 
sanctity of the discipline practised by them; but, as he 
descended to the lower ages, found the peace of Chris- 
tianity broken by useless controversies, and its doctrines 
sophisticated by the subtilties of the schools. He 
found the holy writers interpreted according to the no- 
tions of philosophers, and the chimeras of metaphysi- 
cians adopted as articles of faith. He found difficulties 
raised by niceties, and fomented to bitterness and ran- 
cour. He saw the simplicity of the Christian doctrine 
corrupted by the private fancies of particular parties, 
while each adhered to its own philosophy, and orthodoxy 
was confined to the sect in power. 

Having now exhausted his fortune in the pursuit of his 
studies, he found the necessity of applying to some pro- 
fession, that, without engrossing all his time, might 
enable him to support himself; and having obtained a 
very uncommon knowledge of the mathematicks, he 
read lectures in those sciences to a select number of 
young gentlemen in the university. 

At length, his propension to the study of physick grew 
too violent to be resisted: and, though he still intended 
to make divinity the great employment of his life, he 
could not deny himself the satisfaction of spending 
some time upon the medical writers, for the perusal of 
which he was so well qualified by his acquaintance with 
the mathematicks and philosophy. 

But this science corresponded so much with his natu- 
ral genius, that he could not forbear making that his bu- 
siness which he intended only as his diversion; and still 

et ^iOTffiTrnav finguli definiant ex placitis suae metaphysices. Hor- 
rebat, inter dominanlis sectne praevalentem opinionem, ortho- 
doxiae rnodum, et regulas, unice dare juxta dictata metapbysico- 
rum, non sacrarum literarum; unde tam variac sententise (Je dq^;- 
I'rina simplicissima." — Orii^. Edit. 



U BOERHAAVE. 

growing more eager as he advanced further, he at length 
determined wholly to master that profession, and to take 
his degree in physick before he engaged in the duties 
of the ministry. 

It is, I believe, a very just observation, that men's 
ambition is generally proportioned to their capacity. 
Providence seldom sends any into the world with an in- 
clination to attempt great things, who have not abilities 
likewise to perform them. To have formed the design 
of gaining a complete knowledge of medicine by way 
of digression from theological studies, would have been 
little less than madness in most men, and would have 
only exposed them to ridicule and contempt. But Boer- 
haave was one of those mighty geniuses, to whom scarce 
any thing appears impossible, and who think nothing 
worthy of their efforts, but what appears insurmountable 
to common understandings. 

He began this new course of study by a diligent peru- 
sal of Vesalius, Bartholine, and Fallopius; and, to ac^- 
quaint himself more fully with the structure of bodies, 
was a constant attendant upon Nuck's publick dissec- 
tions in the theatre, and himself very accurately inspect- 
ed the bodies of different animals. 

Having furnished himself with this preparatory know- 
ledge he began to read the ancient physicians in the 
order of time, pursuing his enquiries downwards from 
Hippocrates through all the Greek and Latin writers. 

Finding, as he tells us himself, that Hippocrates was 
the original source of all medical knowledge, and that 
all the later writers were little more than transcribers 
from him, he returned to him with more attention, and 
spent much time in making extracts from him, digesting 
his treatises into method, and fixing them in his memory. 

He then descended to the moderns, among whom 
none engaged him longer, or improved him more, than 
Sydenham, to whose merit he has left this attestation-. 



BOERHAAVE. 15 

''that he frequently perused him, and always with great- 
er eagerness." 

His insatiable curiosity after knowledge engaged him 
now in the practice of chymistry, which he prosecuted 
with all the ardour of a philosopher, whose industry was 
not to be wearied, and whose love of truth was too strong 
to suffer him to acquiesce in the report of others. 

Yet did he not suffer one branch of science to with- 
draw his attention from others: anatomy did not with- 
hold him from chymistry, nor chymistry, enchanting as 
it is, from the study of botany, in which he was no less 
skilled than in other parts of physick. He was not only 
a careful examiner of all the plants in the garden of the 
university, but made excursions for his further improve- 
ment into the woods and fields, and left no place unvisi- 
ted where any increase of botanical knowledge could be 
reasonably hoped for. 

In conjunction with all these enquiries he still pursued 
his theological studies, and still, as we are informed by 
himself, " proposed, when he had made himself master 
©f the whole art of physick, and obtained the honour of 
a degree in that science, to petition regularly for a li- 
cence to preach, and to engage in the cure of souls;" 
and intended in his theological exercise to discuss this 
question, " why so many were formerly converted to 
Christianity by illiterate persons, and so few at present 
by men of learning." 

In pursuance of this plan he went to Hardewich, in 
order to take the degree of doctor in physick, which he 
obtained in July 1693, having performed a publick dis- 
putation, " de utilitate explorandorum ex crementorunl 
in xgris, ut signorum." 

Then returning to Leyden full of his pious design of 
undertaking the ministry, he found to his surprise un- 
expected obstacles thrown in his way, and an insinuation 
dispersed through the university that made him suS'- 



Id BOERHAAVE. 

pected, not of any slight deviation from received opini- 
ons, not of any pertinacious adherence to his own no- 
tions in doubtful and disputable matters, but of no less 
than Spinosism, or, in plainer terms, of Atheism it- 
self. 

How so injurious a report came to be raised, circula- 
ted, and credited, will be doubtless very eagerly en- 
quired: we shall therefore give the relalion, not only to 
satisfy the curiosity of mankind, but to shew that no 
merit, however exalted, is exempt from being not only 
attacked but wounded, by the most contemptible whis- 
perers. Those who cannot strike with force, can however 
poison their weapon, and weak as they are, give mortal 
wounds, and bring a hero to the grave: so true is that 
observation, that many are able to do hurt, but few to 
do good. 

This detestable calumny owed its rise to an incident 
from which no consequence of importance could be pos- 
sibly apprehended. As Boerhaave was sitting in a com- 
mon boat, there arose a conversation among the pas- 
sengers upon the impious and pernicious doctrine of 
Spinosa, which, as they all agreed, tends to the utter 
overthrow of all religion. Boerhaave sat, and attended 
silently to this discourse for some time, till one of the 
company, willing to distinguish himself by his zeal, in- 
stead of confuting the positions of Spinosa by argument, 
began to give a loose to contumelious language, and 
irirulent invectives, which Boerhaave was so little pleased 
with, that at last he could not forbear asking him, whe- 
ther he had ever read the author he declaimed against. 

The orator, not being able to make much answer, was 
checked in the midst of his invectives, but not without 
feeling a secret resentment against the person who had 
at once interrupted his harangue, and exposed his igno- 
rance. 

This was observed by a stranger who was in the boat 



BOERHAAVE. ir 

with them; he enquired of his neighbour the name of 
the young man, whose question had put an end to the 
discourse, and having learned it, set it down in his 
pocket-book, as it appears, with a malicious design, for 
in a few days it was the common conversation at Ley den, 
that Boerhaave had revolted to Spinosa. 

It was in vain that his advocates and friends pleaded 
his learned and unanswerable confutation of all atheis- 
tical opinions, and particularly of the system of Spinosa, 
in his discourse of the distinction between soul and body. 
Such calumnies are not easily suppressed, when they 
are once become general. They are kept alive and sup- 
ported by the malice of bad, and sometimes by the zeal 
of good men, who though they do not absolutely believe 
them, think it yet the securest method to keep not only 
guilty but suspected men out of publick employments, 
upon this principle, that the safety of many is to be pre- 
ferred before the advantage of few. 

Boerhaave, finding this formidable opposition raised 
against his pretensions to ecclesiastical honours or pre- 
ferments, and even against his design of assuming the 
character of a divine, thought it neither necessary nor 
prudent to struggle with the torrent of popular prejudice^ 
as he was equally qualified for a profession, not indeed 
of equal dignity or importance, but which must undoubt- 
edly claim the second place among those which are of 
the greatest benefit to mankind. 

He therefore appUed himself to his medical studies 
with new ardour and alacrity, reviewed all his former 
observations and enquiries, and was continually employ- 
ed in making new acquisitions. 

Having now qualified himself for the practice of phy- 
sick, he began to visit patients, but without that encou- 
ragement which others, not equally deserving, have 
sometimes met with. His business was at first not great, 
and his circumstances by no means easy; but, still, su- 



18 BOERHAAVE. 

perior to any discouragement, he continued his search 
after knowledge, and determined that prosperity, if ever 
he was to enjoy it, should be the consequence not of 
mean art, or disingenuous solicitations, but of real merit, 
and solid learning. 

His steady adherence to his resolutions appears yet 
more plainly from this circumstance: he was while he 
yet remained in this unpleasing situation, invited by one 
of the first favourites of king William III. to settle at 
the Hague, upon very advantageous conditions; but de- 
clined the offer: for, having no ambition but after know- 
ledge, he was desirous of living at liberty, without any 
restraint upon his looks, his thoughts, or his tongue, 
and at the utmost distance from all contentions and state 
parties. His time was wholly taken up in visiting the 
sick, studying, making chymical experiments, searching 
into every part of medicine with the utmost diligence, 
teaching the mathematicks, and reading the Scriptures, 
and those authors who profess to teach a certain method 
of loving God.* 

This was his method of living to the year 1701, when 
he was recommended by Van Berg to the university, as 
a proper person to succeed Drelincurtius in the profes- 
sorship of physick, and elected without any solicitations 
on his part, and almost without his consent, on the 18th 
of May. 

* " Circa hoc tempus, lautis conditionibus, lautioribus promis- 
sis, invitatus, plus vice simpUci, a viro primariae clignationis, qui 
gratia flap^rantissimaflorebat regis Gulielmi III. ut Hagamcomi- 
tum sedem caperat fortunarum, declinavit constaiiS. Contentus 
videlicet vita libera, remotaa turbis, studiisque porro percolen- 
dis unice impensa, ubi non cogeretur alia dicere 8t simulare; 
alia sentire & dissimulare: affectiium studiis rapi, regi. Sic turn 
vita erat, segros visere, mox domi in musjeose condere,officinain 
Vulcaniam exercere; omnes medicinse partes acerrime persequi; 
mathematica etiam aliis tradere; sacra legere, et aiictores qui 
profitentur docere rationem certain amandi Deura." Orig. Edit 



BOERHAAVE. 19 

On this occasion, having observed, with grief, that 
Hippocrates, whom he regarded not only as the father 
but as the prince of physicians, was not sufficiently read 
or esteemed by young students, he pronounced an ora- 
tion, " de commendando Studio Hippocratico;" by which 
he restored that great author to his just and ancient re- 
putation. 

He now began to read public lectures with great ap- 
plause, and was prevailed upon by his audience to en- 
large his original design, and instruct them in chymistry. 

This he undertook, not only to the great advantage 
of his pupils, but to the great improvement of the art 
itself, which had hitherto been treated only in a confused 
and irregular manner, and was little more than a history 
of particular experiments, not reduced to certain prin- 
ciples, nor connected one with another: this vast chaos 
he reduced to order, and made that clear and easy which 
was before to the last degree difficult and obscure. 

His reputation now began to bear some proportion to 
his merit, and extended itself to distant universities; so 
that, in 1703, the professorship of physick being vacant 
at Groningen, he was invited thither; but he; refused to 
leave Leyden, and chose to continue his present course 
of life. 

This invitation and refusal being related to the gover- 
nors of the university of Leyden, they had so grateful a 
sense of his regard for them, that they immediately vo- 
ted an honorary increase of his salary, and promised him 
the first professorship that should be vacant. 

On this occasion he pronounced an oration upon the 
use of mechanicks in the science of physick, in which 
he endeavoured to recommend a rational and mathema- 
tical enquiry into the causes of diseases, and the struc- 
ture of bodies; and to shew the follies and weaknesses of 
the jargon introduced by Paracelsus, Helmont, and other 
chymical enthusiasts, who have obtruded upon the world 



20 BOERHAAVE. 

the most airy dreams, and; instead of enlightening their 
readers with explications of nature, have darkened the 
plainest appearances, and bewildered mankind in error 
and obscurity. 

Boerhaave had now for nine years re^d physical lec- 
tures, but without the title or dignity of a professor, 
when, by the death of professor Hotten, the professor- 
ship of physick and botany fell to him of course. 

On this occasion he asserted the simplicity and faci- 
lity of the science of physick, in opposition to those that 
think obscurity contributes to tlie dignity of learning, 
and that to be admired it is necessary not to be under- 
stood. 

His profession of botany made it part of his duty to 
superintend the physical garden, which improved so 
much by the immense number of new plants which 
he procured, that it was enlarged to twice its original 
extent. 

In 1714 he was deservedly advanced to the highest 
dignities of the university, and in the same year made 
physician of St.Augustin*s hospital in Leyden,into which 
the students are admitted twice a week, to learn the 
practice of physick. 

This was of equal advantage to the sick and to the 
students, for the success of his practice was the best de- 
monstration of the soundness of his principles. 

When he laid down his office of governor of the uni- 
versity in 1715, he made an oration upon the subject of 
" attaining to certainty in natural philosophy;" in which 
he declares, in the strongest terms, in favour of experi- 
mental knowledge, and reflects with just severity upon 
those arrogant philosophers, who are too easily disgust- 
ed with the slow methods of obtaining true notions by 
frequent experiments, and who, possessed with too high 
an opinion of their own abihties, rather chuse to consult 
their own imaginations, than enquire into nature, and 



BOERHAAVE. 21 

are better pleased with the charming amusement of 
forming hypotheses than the toilsome drudgery of mak- 
ing observations. 

The emptiness and uncertainty of all those systems, 
whether venerable for their antiquity, or agreeable for 
their novelty, he has evidently shewn: and not only de- 
clared, but proved, that we are entirely ignorant of the 
principles of things, and that all the knowledge we have 
is of such qualities alone as are discoverable by experi- 
ence, or such as may be deduced from them by mathe- 
matical demonstration. 

. This discourse, filled as it was with piety, and a true 
sense of the greatness of the Supreme Being, and the 
incomprehensibility of his works, gave such offence to 
a professor of Franeker, who professed the utmost es- 
teem for des Cartes, and considered his principles as 
the bulwark of orthodoxy, that he appeared in vindica- 
tion of his darling author, and spoke of the injury done 
him with the utmost vehemence, declaring little less 
than that the Cartesian system and the Christian must 
inevitably stand and fall together, and that to say that 
we were ignorant of the principles of things, was not 
only to enlist among the Sceptics, but sink into Atheism 
itself. 

So far can prejudice darken the understanding, as to 
make it consider precarious systems as the chief sup- 
port of sacred and invariable truth. 

This treatment of Boerhaave was so far resented by 
the governors of his university, that they procured from 
Franeker a recantation of the invective that had been 
thrown out against him; this was not only complied 
with, but offers were made him of more ample satisfac- 
tion; to which he returned an answer not less to his ho- 
nour than the victory he gained, " that he should think 
himself sufficiently compensated, if his adversary re- 
f^eived no further molestatioR on his account.'* 



22 BOERHAAVE. 

So far was this weak and injudicious attack from 
shaking a reputation not casiraily raised by fashion or 
caprice, but founded on solid merit, that the same year 
his correspondence was desired upon Botany and Natural 
Philosophy by the Academy of Sciences at Paris, of 
which he was, upon the death of count Marsigli, in the 
year 1728, elected a member. 

Nor were the French the only nation by which this 
great man was courted and distinguished; for, two years 
after, he was elected fellow of our Royal Society. 

It cannot be doubted but, thus caressed and honoured 
with the highest and most pubiick marks of esteem by 
other nations, he became more celebrated in the univer- 
sity: for Boerhaave was not one of those learned men, 
of whom the world has seen too many, tbat disgrace 
their studies by their vices, and by unaccountable weak- 
nesses make themselves ridiculous at home, while their 
writings procure them the veneration of distant countries, 
where their learning is known, but not their follies. 

Not that his countrymen can be charged with being 
insensible of his excellences till other nations taught 
them to admire him; for in 1718 he was chosen to suc- 
ceed Le Mort in the professorship of chemistry; on which 
occasion he pronounced an oration " De Chemia errores 
suos expurgante," in which he treated that science with 
an elegance of style not often to be found in chemical 
writers, who seem generally to have affected not only a 
barbarous, but unintelligible phrase, and to have, like 
the Pythagoriens of old, wrapped up their secrets in 
symbols and enigmatical expressions, either because 
they believed that mankind would reverence most what 
they least understood, or because they wrote not from 
benevolence but vanity, and were desirous to be praised 
for their knowledge, though they could not prevail upon 
themselves to communicate it. 

In 1722, his course both of lectures and practice was 



BOERHAAVE. 23 

interrupted by the gout, which, as he relates it in his 
speech after his recovery, he brought upon himself, by 
an imprudent confidence in the strength of his own con- 
stitution, and by transgressing those rules which he had 
a thousand times inculcated to his pupils and acquain- 
tance. Rising in the morning before day, he went imme- 
diately, hot and sweating, from his bed into the open 
air, and exposed himself to the cold dews. 

The history of his illness can hardly be read without 
horror; he was for five months confined to his bed, where 
he lay upon his back without daring to attempt the least 
motion, because any effort renewed his torments, which 
were so exquisite that he was at length not only deprived 
of motion, but of sense. Here art was at a stand: nothing 
could be attempted, because nothing could be proposed 
with the least prospect of success. At length having, irv 
the sixth month of his illness, obtained some remission, 
he took simple medicines* in large quantities, and at 
length wonderfully recovered. 

His recovery, so much desired, and so unexpected, 
was celebrated on Jan. 11, 1723, when he opened his 
school again, with general joy and public illuminations. 

It would be an injury to the memory of Boerhaave 
not to mention what was related by himself to one of 
his friends, that when he lay whole days and nights 
without sleep, he found no method of diverting his 
thoughts so effectual as meditation upon his studies, and 
that he often relieved and mitigated the sense of his tor- 
ments by the recollection of what he had read, and by 
reviewing those stores of knowledge which he had re- 
posited in his memory. 

This is perhaps an instance of fortitude and steady 
composure of mind, which would have been for ever the 

* " Succos presses bibit Noster herbarum Cichoriae, Endivije 
Fumai-iae, Nasturtii aquatici, Veronicae aquaticae latifoliac, copia 
ingenti, simul de lutiens abundantissime gumim ferumlacea 
Asiatica."— Or/^. £dit. 



24 BOERHAAVE. 

boast of the stoick schools, and increased the reputation 
of Seneca or Cato. The patience of Boerhaave, as it 
was more rational was more lasting than theirs, as it 
was that {latientia Christiana which Lipsius, the great 
master of the Stoical Philosophy, begged of God in his 
last hours; it was founded on religion, not vanity, not 
©n vain reasonings, but on confidence in God. 

In 1727 he was seized with a violent burning fever, 
which continued so long that he was once more given 
up by his friends. 

From this time he was frequently afflicted with re- 
turns of his distemper, which yet did not so far subdue 
him, as to make him lay aside his studies or his lectures, 
till in 1726 he found himself so worn out that it was im- 
proper for him to continue any longer the professorship 
of botany or chemistry, which he therefore resigned 
April 28, and upon his resignation spokea"Sermo 
Academicus," or oration, in which he asserts the power 
and wisdom of the Creator from the wonderful fabrick 
of the human body; and confutes all those idle reasoners, 
who pretend to explain the formation of parts, or the 
animal operations, to which he proves that art can pro- 
duce nothing equal, nor any thing parallel. One instance 
I shall mention which is produced by him, of the vanity 
of any attempt to rival the work of God. Nothing is 
more boasted by the admirers of chemistry, than that 
they can, by artificial heats and digestion, imitate the 
productions of nature. " Let all these heroes of science 
meet together,** says Boerhaave; " let them take bread 
and wine, the food that forms the blood of man, and by 
assimilation contributes to the growth of the body: let 
them try all their arts, they shall not be able from these 
materials to produce a single drop of blood. So much is 
the most common act of Nature beyond the utmost ef- 
forts of the most extended sciencel'* 

From this time Boerhaave lived with less publick 
employment indeed, but not an idle or an useless life; 



BOERHAAVE. 25 

for, besides his hours spent in instructing his scholars, a 
great part of his time was taken up by patients which 
came, when the distemper would admit it, from all parts 
of Europe to consult him, or by letters which, in more 
urgent cases, were continually sent to enquire his opin- 
ion, and ask his advice. 

Of his sagacity, and the wonderful penetration with 
which he often discovered and described, at first sight 
of a patient, such distempers as betray themselves by no 
symptoms to common eyes, such wonderful relations 
have been spread over the world, as though attested be- 
yond doubt, can scarcely be credited. I mention none of 
them, because I have no opportunity of collecting testi- 
monies, or distinguishing between those accounts which 
are well proved, and those which owe their rise to fiction 
and credulity. 

Yet I cannot but implore, with the greatest earnest* 
ness, such as have been conversant with this great man, 
that they will not so far neglect the common interest of 
mankind, as to suffer any of these circumstances to be 
lost to posterity. Men are generally idle, and ready to 
satisfy themselves, and intimidate the industry of others, 
by calling that impossible which is only difficult. The 
skill to which Boerhaave attained, by a long and un- 
wearied observation of nature, ought therefore to be 
transmitted in all its particulars to future ages, that his 
successors may be ashamed to fall below him, and that 
none may hereafter excuse his ignorance by pleading 
the impossibility of clearer knowledge. 

Yet so far was this great master from presumptuous 
confidence in his abilities, that, in his examinations of the 
sick, he was remarkably circumstantial and particular. 
He well knew that the originals of distempers are often 
at a distance from their visible effects; that to conjec- 
ture, where certainty may be obtained, is either vanity 
or negligence; and that life is not to be sacrificed, either 
*oan affectation of quick discernment, or of crowded 
^ Vol. XII. B 



26 BOERHAAVE. 

practice, but may be required, if trifled away, at the hanti 
of the physician. 

About the middle of the year 1737, he felt the first 
approaches of that fatal illness that brought him to the 
grave, of which we have inserted an account, written by 
himself Sept. 8, 1738, to a friend at London*; which de- 
serves not only to be preserved as an historical relation 
of the disease which deprived us of so great a man, but 
as a proof of his piety and resignation to the divine will. 

In this last illness, which was to the last degree linger- 
ing, painful, and afflictive, his constancy and firmness did 
not forsake him. He neither intermitted the necessar • 
cares of life, nor forgot the proper preparations for deat . 
Though dejection and lownessof spirits was, as he hi i- 
self tells us, part of his distemper, yet even this, in soi ic 
measure, gave way to that vigour which the soul receivies 
from a consciousness of innocence. 

About three weeks before his death he received a visit 
at his country-house from the Rev. Mr. Schultens, his 
intimate friend, who found him sitting without-door, with 
his wife, sister, and daughter. After the compliments of 
form, the ladies withdrew, and left them to private con- 
versation; when Boerhaave took occasion to tell him what 

* " ^tas, labor, corporisque opima plnj^uetudo, effecerant, 
ante annum, ut inertibus refertum, grave, hebes, plenitudine 
tureens corpus, unhelum ad motus minimos, cum sensu suffoca- 
tionis, pnlsu mii-ifice anomalo, ineptunn evaderet ad ullum motum. 
Urg"ebat pracipue subsistens proi'sus & intercepta respiratio ad 
prima somni initia; unde somnus prorsus prohibebatur, cum for- 
midabili strangulationis molestia. Hinc hydrops pedum, crurum, 
femorum scroti, prxputii, & abdominis. Quae tamen omnia sub- 
lata. Sed dolor manet in abdomine, cum anxietate summa, anhe- 
litu suft'ocante, & debilitate incredibili; somno, pauco, eoque 
vago; per sonnniaturbatissimo; animus vero rebus agendis impar. 
Cum his luctor fessus nee emergo; patientur expectans Dei 
jussa, quibus resigno data, quae sola umo, et honoro unice."— 
Orig. Edit. 



BOERHAAVE. 27 

had been, durinc^ his illness, the chief subject of his 
thoughts. He had never doubtejd of the spiritual and im- 
material nature of the soul; but declared that he had lately 
a kind of experimental certainty of the distinction between 
corporeal and thinking substances, which mere reason 
and philosophy cannot afford, and opportunities of con- 
templating the wonderful and inexplicable union of soul 
and body, which nothing but long sickness can give. This 
he illustrated by a description of the effects which the in- 
firmities of his body had upon his faculties, which yet 
they did not so oppress or vanquish, but his soul was al- 
^rays miaster of itself, and always resigned to the pleasure 
of its Maker. 

He related with great concern, that once his patience 
so far gave way to extremity of pain, that, after having 
lain fifteen hours in exquisite tortures, he prayed to God 
that he might be set free by death. 

Mr. Schultens, by way of consolation, answered, that 
he thought such wishes, when forced by continued and 
excessive torments, unavoidable in the present state of 
human nature; that the best men, even Job himself, were 
not able to refrain from such starts of impatience. This 
he did not deny; but said, " He that loves God, ought to 
think nothing desirable but what is most pleasing to the 
Supreme Goodness." 

Such were his sentiments, and such his conduct, in this 
state of weakness and pain. As death approached nearer, 
he was so far from terror or confusion, that he seemed 
even less sensible of pain, and more cheerful under his 
torments, which continued till the 23d day of September, 
1783, on which he died, between four and five in the 
morning, in the 70th year of his age. 

Thus died Boerhaave, a man formed by nature for great 
designs, and guided by religion in the exertion of his abi- 
lities. He was of a robust and athletic constitution of body, 
so hardened by early severities, and wholesome fatigue, 



'28 BOERHAAVE. 

that he was insensible of any sharpness of air, or inclem- 
ency of weather. He was tall, and remarkable for extra- 
ordinary strength. There was in his air and motion some- 
thing rough and artless, but so majestic and great at the 
same time, that no man ever looked upon him without 
veneration, and a kind of tacit submission to the superi- 
ority of his genius. 

The vigour and activity of his mind sparkled visibly 
in his eyes: nor was it ever observed, that any change of 
his fortune, or alteration in his affairs, whether happy or 
unfortunate, affected his countenance. 

He was always cheerful, and desirous of promoting 
mirth by a facetious and humorous conversation; he 
was never soured by calumny and detraction, nor ever 
thought it necessary to confute them; "for they are 
sparks,'* said he, " which if you do not blow themj will 
go out of themselves." 

Yet he took care never to provoke enemies by severity 
of censure; for he never dwelt on the faults or defects of 
others, and was so far from inflaming the envy of his 
rivals by dwelling on his own excellencies, that he rarely 
mentioned himself or his writings. 

He was not to be overawed or depressed by the pre- 
sence, frovvns, or insolence of great men; but persisted on 
all occasions in the right, with a resolutions always pre- 
sent and always calm. He was modest, but not timorous, 
and firm without rudness. 

He could with uncommon readiness and certainty, 
make a conjecture of men's inclinations and capacity by 
their aspect. 

His method of life was to study in the morning and 
evening, and to allot the middle of the day to his publick 
business. His Ubual exercise was riding, till in his latter 
years, his distempers made it more proper for him to 
walk: when he was weary, he amused himself with play- 
ing on the violin. 



BOERHAAVE. 29 

His greatest pleasure was to retire to his house in the 
country, where he had a garden stored with all the herbs 
and trees which the climate would bear; here he used to 
enjoy his hours unmolested, and prosecute his studies 
without interruption. 

The diligence with which he pursued his studies, is 
sufficiently evident from his success. Statesmen and ge- 
nerals may grow great by unexpected accidents, and a 
fortunate concurrence of circumstances, neither procu- 
red nor foreseen by themselves: but reputation in the 
learned world must be the effect of industry and capacity. 
Boerhaave lost none of his hours, but when he had attain- 
ed one science, attempted another: he added physic to 
divinity, chemistry to the mathematics, and anatomy to 
botany. He examined systems by experiments, and 
formed experiments into systems. He neither neglected 
the observations of others, nor blindly submitted to cele- 
brated names. He neither thought so highly of himself 
as to imagine he could receive no light from books, nor 
so meanly as to believe he could discover nothing but 
what was to be learned from them. He examined the ob- 
servations of other men, but trusted only to his own. 

Nor was he unacquainted with the art of recommend- 
ing truth by elegance, and embellishing the philosopher 
with polite literature: he knew that but a small part of 
mankind will sacrifice their pleasure to their improve- 
ment: and those authors who would find many readers, 
must endeavour to please while they instruct. 

He knew the importance of his own writings to man- 
kind; and lest he might by a roughness and barbarity of 
style, too frequent among men of great learning, disap- 
point his own intentions, and make his labours less useful, 
he did not neglect the politer arts of eloquence and poetry. 
Thus was his learning at once various and exact, profound 
and agreeable. 

But his knowledge, however uncommon, holds, in his 



30 BOERHAAVE. 

character, but the second place; his virtue was yet much 
more uncommon than his learning. He was an admirable 
example of temperance, fortitude, humihty and devotion. 
His piety and a religious sense of his dependence on God, 
was the basis of all his virtues, and the principle of his 
whole conduct. He was too sensible of his weakness to 
ascribe any thing to himself, or to conceive that he could 
subdue passion, or withstand temptation by his own na- 
tural power^ he attributed every good thought, and every 
laudable action to the Father of Goodness. Being once 
asked by a friend, who had often admired his patience 
under great provocations, whether he knew what it was 
to be angry, and by what means he had so entirely sup- 
pressed that impetuous and ungovernable passion? he 
answered, with the utmost frankness and sincerity, that 
he was naturally quick of resentment, but that he had by 
daily prayer and meditation, at length attained to this 
mastery over himself. 

As soon as he rose in the morning, it was, throughout his 
whole life, his daily practice to retire for an hour to pri- 
vate prayer and meditation; this he often told his fiiends, 
gave him spirit and vigour in the business of the day, and 
this he therefore commended as the best rule of life; for 
nothing, he knew, could support the soul in all distresses 
but a confidence in the Supreme Being, nor can a steady 
and rational magnanimity flow from any other source than 
a consciousness of the divine favour. 

He asserted on all occasions the divine authority and 
sacred efficacy of the holy Scriptures; and maintained 
that they alone taught the way of salvation, and that they 
only could give peace of mind. The excellency of the 
Christian religion was the frequent subject of his conver- 
sation. A strict obedience to the doctrine, and a diligent 
imitation of the example of our Blessed Saviour, he 
often declared to be the foundation of true tranquillity. 
He recommended to his friends a careful observation of 



BOERHAAVE. S\ 

the precept of Moses concerning the love of God and 
man. He worshipped God as he is in himself, without 
attempting to enqire into his nature. He desired only to 
think of God, what God knows of himself. There he 
stopped, lest by indulging his own ideas, he should form 
a Deity from his own imagination, and sin by falling 
down before him. To the will of God he paid an absolute 
submission, without endeavouring to discover the reason 
of his determinations: and this he accounted the first and 
most inviolable duty of a Christian. When he heard of 
a criminal condemned to die, he used to think, who can 
tell whether this man is not better than I? or, if I am bet- 
ter, it is not to be ascribed to myself, but to the goodness 
of God. 

Such were the sentiments of Boerhaave, whose word5^ 
we have added in the note.* So far was this man from 
being made impious by philosophy, or vain by know- 
ledge, or by virtue, that he ascribed all his abilities to the 
bounty, and all his goodness to the grace of God. May 
his example extend his influence to his admirers and 

* " Doctrinam sacris Uteris Hebraice & Grjece traditam, solam 
animae salutarem & agnovit & sensit. Omni opportunitate profile- 
batur disciplinam, quam Jesus Christus ore & vita expressit, 
unice tranquillitatem darementi. Semperqiie dixit amlcis, pacem 
animi hand reperiundam nisi in maj^no Mosis prxcepto de sincere 
amore Dei & hominis bene observato. Neque extra sacra monu- 
menta uspiam inveniri, quod mentum serenet. Demn pius adora 
vit, qui est. Intelligere de Deo, unice volebat id, quod Deus de se 
intelligit. Eocontentus ultra nihil requisivit,ne idolataria erraret. 
In voluntate Dei sic requiescebat, utillius nullamomninorationeii: 
indagandam pntaret. Hanc unice supremam omnium leg-em esse 
contendebat; deliberata constantia perfectissime colendam. De 
aliis & seipso sentiebat: ut quoties criminisrcos ad posnas letales; 
damnatos audiret, semper cogitaret, saepe diceret; " Qiiis dix- 
**erat annon me sint meliores? Utique, si ipse melior, idnon mihi 
" auctori tribuendum esse palatn aio, confiteor! sed ita larg-ienti 
« Deo." Ori^. Edit, 



32 BOERHAAVE. 

followers! May those who study his writings imitate his 
life! and those who endeavour after his knowledge aspire 
likewise to his piety! 

He married, September 17, 1710, Mary Drolenveaux, 
the only daughter of a burgo-master of Leyden, by whom 
he had Joanna-Maria, who survived her father, and three 
other children who died in their infancy. 

The works of this great writer are so generally known, 
and so highly esteemed, that, though it may not be im- 
proper to enumerate them in the order of time in which 
they were published, it is wholly unnecessary to give 
any other account of them. 

He published in 1707, " Institutiones Medicae,'* t© 
which he added in 1708, " Aphorismi de cognoscendis, 
ct curandis morbis." 

1710, " Index stirpium in horto academico." 

1719, " De materia medica, & remediorum formulis 
»* liber;" and in 1727 a second edition. 

1720, " Alter index stirpium," kc. adorned with 
plates, and containing twice the number of plants as the 
former. 

1722. " Epistola ad el. Ruischium, qua sententiam 
** Malpighianam de glandulis defendit." 

1724, " Atrocis nee prius descripti morbi historia illus- 
••' trissimi baronis Wassenarise." 

1725, " Opera anatomica et chirurgica Andreae Vesa- 
" lii," with the life of Vesalius. 

1728, "Altera atrocis rarissimique morbi marchionis 
'< de Sancto Albano historia." 

" Auctores de lue Aphrodisiaca, cum tractatu prae- 
<' fixo." 

1731, " Aretaei Cappadocis nova editio." 

1732, « Elementa Chemi^." 

1734, " Observata de argento vivo, ad Reg. See. 5c 
" Acad. Scient." 



BOERHAAVE. 33 

These are the writings of the great Boerhaave, which 
have made all encomiums useless and vain, since no man 
can attentively peruse them without admiring the abili- 
ties, and reverencing the virtue of the author.* 

* Gent. Mag. 1739, vol. IX. p. 176. N. 



B2 



BLAKE. 



At a time when a nation is engaged in a war with an 
enemy, whose insults, ravages, and barbarities, have long, 
called for vengeance, an account of such English comman- 
ders as have merited the acknowledgments of posterity, 
by extending the powers and raising the honour of their 
country, seems to be no improper entertainment for our 
readers.* We shall therefore attempt a succinct narra= 
tion of the life and actions of Admiral Blake, in which we 
have nothing farther in view than to do justice to his 
bravery and conduct, without intending any parallel be- 
tween his achievements and those of our present ad- 
mirals. 

Robert Blake was born at Bridgewater, in Somer- 
setshire, in August 1598, his father being a merchant of 
that place, who had acquired a considerable fortune by 
the Spamsh trade. Of his earliest years we have no ac- 
count, and therefore can amuse the reader with none of 
those prognosticks of his future actions, so often met 
with in memoirs. 

In 1615 he entered into the university of Oxford, where 
lie continued till 1623, though without being much coun- 
tenanced or caressed by his superiors; for he was more 

* This Life was first printed in the Gentleman's Magazine for 
the year 1740. N. 



BLAKE. 35 

than once disappointed in his endeavours after academical 
preferments. It is observable that Mr. Wood (in his 
Athenae Oxonienses) ascribes the repulse he met with at 
Wadham college, where he was competitor for a fellow- 
ship, either to want of learning, or of stature. With re- 
gard to the first objection, the same writer had before 
informed us, that he was an early riaer^ and studious^ 
though he sometimes relieved his attention by the amuse- 
ments of fowling and fishing. As it is highly probable 
that he did not want capacity, Ave may therefore conclude, 
upon this confession of his diligence, that he could not 
fail of being learned, at least in the degree requisite to 
the enjoyment of a fellowship; and may safely ascribe his 
disappointment to his want of stature, it being the custom 
of Sir Henry Savil, then warden of that college, to pay 
much regard to the outward appearance of those who 
solicited preferment in that society. So much do the great- 
est events owe sometimes to accident or folly! 

He afterwards retired to his native place, where " he 
lived,'* says Clarendon, " without any appearance of 
ambition to be a greater man than he was, but inveighed 
with great freedom against the licence of the times, and 
power of the court.'* 

In 1 640 he was chosen burgess for Bridgewater by the 
Puritan party, to Avhom he had recommended himself by 
the disapprobation of Bishop Laud's violence and seve- 
rity, and his non-compliance with those new ceremonies 
which he was then endeavouring to introduce. 

When the civil war broke out, Blake, in conformity 
with his avowed principles, declared for the parliament; 
and, thinking a bare declaration for right not all the duty 
of a good man, raised a troop of dragoons for his party, 
and appeared in the field with so much bravery, that he 
was in a short time advanced, without meeting any of 
those obstructions which he had encoimtered in the 
universitv. 



36 BLAKE. 

In 1645 he was governor of Taunton, when the Lord 
Gormg came before it with an army of 10,000 men. The 
town Avas ill-fortified, and unsupplied with almost every 
thing necessary for supporting a siege. The state of this 
garrison encouraged Colonel Windham, who was ac- 
quainted with Blake, to propose a capitulation; which 
was rejected by Blake with indignation and contempt: 
nor were either menaces or persuasions of any effect, for 
he maintained the place under all its disadvantages, till 
the siege was raised by the parliament's army. 

He continued, on many other occasions, to give proofs 
of an insuperable courage, and a steadiness of resolution 
not to be shaken; and, as a proof of his firm adherence 
to the parliament? joined with the borough of Taunton 
in returning thanks for their resolution to make no more 
addresses to the King. Yet was he so far from approving 
the death of Charles L that he made no scruple of de- 
claring, that he would venture his life to save him, as 
willingly as he had done to serve the parliament. 

In February 1648-9, he was made a commissioner of 
the navy, and appointed to serve on that element for 
which he seems by nature to have been designed. He was 
soon afterwards sent in pursuit of Prince Rupert, whom 
he shut up in the harbour of Kinsale in Ireland for seve- 
ral months, till want of provisions, and despair of relief, 
excited the prince to make a daring effort for his escape, 
by forcing through the parliament's fleet: this design he 
executed with his usual intrepidity, and succeeded in it, 
though with the loss of three ships. He was pursued by 
Blake to the coast of Portugal, where he was received 
into the Tagus, and treated with great distinction by the 
Portuguese. 

Blake, coming to the mouth of that river, sent to the 
King a messenger, to inform him, that the fleet in his 
port belonging to the publick enemies of the Common- 
wealth of England, he demanded leave to fall upon it. 



BLAKE. S'r 

This being refused, though the refusal was in very soft 
terms, and accompanied with declarations of esteem, and 
a present of provisions, so exasperated the Admiral, that 
without any hesitation, he fell upon the Portuguese 
fleet, then returning from Brasil, of which he took seven- 
teen ships, and burnt three. It was to no purpose that 
the King of Portugal, alarmed at so unexpected a de- 
struction, ordered Prince Rupert to attack him, and 
retake the Brasil ships. Blake carried home his prizes 
without molestation, the Prince not having force enough 
to pursue him, and well pleased with the opportunity of 
quitting a port where he could no longer be protected. 

Blake soon supplied his fleet with provision, and re- 
ceived orders to make reprisals upon the French, who 
had suffered their privateers to molest the English trade; 
an injury which, in those days, was always immediately 
resented, and, if not repaired, certainly punished. Sailing 
with this commission, he took in his way a French man 
of war valued at a million. How this ship happened to 
be so rich, we are not informed; but as it was a cruiser, 
it is probable the rich lading was the accumulated plun- 
der of many prizes. Then following the unfortunate Ru- 
pert, whose fleet by storms and battles was now reduced 
to five ships, into Carthagena, he demanded leave of the 
Spanish governor to attack him in the harbour, but re- 
ceived the same answer which had been returned before 
by the Portuguese: " That they had a right to protect 
all ships that came into their dominions; that if the Ad- 
miral were forced in thither, he should find the same 
security; and that he required him not to violate the 
peace of a neutral port." Blake withdrew into the Medi- 
terranean; and Rupert then leaving Carthagena entered 
the port of Malaga, where he burnt and sunk several 
English merchant ships. Blake judging this to be an in- 
fringement of the neutrality professed by the Spaniards, 
now made no scruple to fall upon Rupert's fleet in the 



38 BLAKE. 

harbour of Malaga, and having destroyed three of his 
ships, obliged him to quit the sea, and take sanctuary at 
the Spanish court. 

In February 1650-1, Blake still continuing to cruise 
in the Mediterranean, met a French ship of considerable 
force, and commanded the captain to come on board, 
there being no war declared between the two nations. 
The captain, when he came, was asked by him, whether 
" he was willing to lay down his sword, and yield?" 
which he gallantly refused, though in his enemy's power. 
Blake scorning to take advantage of an artifice, and de- 
testing the appearance of treachery, told him, " that he 
was at liberty to go back to his ship, and defend it as 
long as he could." The captain willingly accepted his 
offer, and after a fight of two hours, confessed himself 
conquered, kissed his sword and surrendered it. 

In 1652 broke out the memorable war between the 
two commonwealths of England and Holland; a war, 
in which the greatest admirals that perhaps any age has 
produced were engaged on each side, in which nothing 
less was contested than the dominion of the sea, and which 
was carried on with vigour, animosity, and resolution, 
proportioned to the importance of the dispute. The chief 
commanders of the Dutch fleets were Van Trump, De 
Ruyter, and De Witt, the most celebrated names of their 
own nation, and who had been perhaps more renowned, 
had they been opposed by any other enemies. The States 
of Holland, having carried on their trade without oppo- 
sition, and almost without competition, not only during 
the unactive reign of James I. but during the commo- 
tions of England, had arrived to that height of naval 
power, and that affluence of wealth, that with the arro- 
gance which a long continued prosperity naturally pro- 
duces, they began to invent new claims, and to treat other 
nations with insolence, which nothing can defend but su- 
periority of force. They had for some time made uncom- 



BLAKE. 3W 

mon preparations at a vast expence, and had equipped a 
large fleet without any apparent danger threatening them, 
or any avowed design of attacking their neighbours. This 
unusual armament was not beheld by the English with- 
out some jealousy; and care was taken to fit out such a 
fleet as might secure the trade from interruption, and 
the coasts from insults; of this Blake was constituted ad- 
miral for nine months. In this situation the two nations 
remained, keeping a watchful eye upon each other, with- 
out acting hostilities on either side, till the 18th of May 
1652, when Van Trump appeared in the Downs with a 
fleet of forty-five men of war. Blake, who had then but 
twenty ships, upon the approach of the Dutch admiral 
saluted him with three single shots, to require that he 
should, by striking his flag, shew that respect to the Eng- 
lish, which is due to every nation in their own dominions; 
to which the Dutchman answered with a broadside; and 
Blake, perceiving that he intended to dispute the point 
of honour, advanced with his own ship before the rest of 
his fleet, that, if it were possible, a general battle might 
be prevented. But the Dutch, instead of admitting him 
to treat, fired upon him from their whole fleet, with- 
out any regard to the customs of war, or the law of na- 
tions. Blake for some time stood alone against their 
whole force, till the rest of his squadron coming up, the 
fight was continued from between four and five in the 
afternoon till nine at night, when the Dutch retired with 
the loss of two ships, having not destroyed a single ves- 
sel, nor more than fifteen men, most of which were on 
board the Admiral, who, as he wrote to the parliament, 
was himself engaged for four hours with the main body 
of the Dutch fleet, being the mark at which they aimed; 
and, as Whitlock relates, received above a thousand shot. 
Blake, in his letter, acknowledges the particular blessing 
and preservation of God, and ascribes his success to the 
justice of his cause, the Dutch having first attacked him 



40 BLAKE. 

upon the English coast. It is indeed little less than mi- 
raculous that a thousand great shot should not do more 
execution; and those who will not admit the interposition 
of Providence may draw at least this inference from it, 
that the bravest man is not always in the greatest danger. 

In July he met the Dutch fishery fleet with a convoy 
of twelve men of war, all which he took, with 100 of 
their herring-busses. And in September, being stationed 
in the Downs with about sixty sail, he discovered the 
Dutch admirals De Witt and De Ruyter with near the 
same number, and advanced towards them; but the Dutch 
being obliged, by the nature of their coast, and shallow- 
ness of their rivers, to build their ships in such a manner 
that they require less depth of water than the English 
vessels, took advantage of the form of their shipping, and 
sheltered themselves behind a flat, called Kentish Knock; 
so that the Enghsh, finding some of their ships aground, 
were obliged to alter thetr course; but perceiving early 
the next morning that the Hollanders had forsaken their 
station, they pursued them with all the speed that the 
wind, which was weak and uncertain, allowed, but found 
themselves unable to reach them with the bulk of their 
fleet, and therefore detached some of the lightest frigates 
to chase them. These came so near as to fire upon them 
about three in the afternoon; but the Dutch, instead of 
tacking about, hoisted their sails, steered toward their 
own coast, and finding themselves the next day followed 
by the whole English fleet, retired into Goree. The 
sailors were eager to attack them in their own harbours; 
but a council of war being convened, it was judged im- 
prudent to hazard the fleet upon the shoals, or to engage 
in any important enterprize without a fresh supply of 
provisions. 

That in this engagement the victory belonged to the 
English is beyond dispute, since, without the loss of one 
ship, and with no more than forty men killed, they drove 
the enemy into their own ports, took the rear-admiral 



BLAKE. 41 

and another vessel, and so discouraged the Dutch admi- 
rals, who had not agreed in their measures, that De Ruy- 
ter, who had declared against hazarding a battle, desired 
to resign his commission, and De Witt, who had insisted 
upon fighting, fell sick, as it was supposed with vexation. 
But how great the loss of the Dutch was, is not certainly 
known; that two ships were taken they are too wise to 
deny, but affirm that those two were all that were de- 
stroyed. The English on the other side, affirm that three 
of their vessels were disabled at the first encounter, that 
their numbers on the second day were visibly diminish- 
ed, and that on the last day they saw three or four ships 
sink in their ffight. 

De Witt being now discharged by the Hollanders as 
iinfortunate, and the chief command restored to Van 
Trump, great preparations were made for retrieving 
their reputation, and repairing those losses. Their en- 
deavours were assisted by the English themselves, now 
made factious by success; the men who were intrusted 
with the civil administration being jealous of those whose 
military commands had procured so much honour, lest 
they who raised them should be eclipsed by them. Such 
is the general revolution of affairs in every state; danger 
and distress produced unanimity and bravery, virtues 
which are seldom unattended with success; but success 
is the parent of pride, and pride ot jealousy and faction; 
faction makes way for calamity, and happy is that nation 
whose calamities renew their unanimity. Such is the ro- 
tation of interests, that equally tend to hinder the total 
destruction of a people, and to obstruct an exorbitant in- 
crease of power. 

Blake had weakened his fleet by many detachments, 
and lay with no more than forty sail in the Downs, very 
ill provided both with men and ammunition, and expect* 
ing new supplies from those whose animosity hindered 
them from providing them, and who chose rather to see 
the trade of their country distressed, than the sea- 



42 BLAKE. 

officers exalted by a new acquisition of honour and in- 
fluence. 

Van Trump, desirous of distinguishing himself at the 
resumption of his command by some remarkable action, 
had assembled eighty ships of war, and ten fire-ships; 
and steered towards the Downs, where Blake, with 
whose condition and strength he was probably acquain- 
ted, was then stationed. Blake, not able to restrain his 
natural ardour, or perhaps not fully informed of the su- 
periority of his enemies, put out to encounter them, 
though his fleet was so weakly manned, that half of his 
ships were obliged to lie idle, without engaging, for want 
of sailors. The force of the whole Dutch fleet was there- 
fore sustained by about twenty-two ships. Two of the 
English frigates, named the Vanguard and the Victory, 
after having for a long time stood engaged amidst the 
whole Dutch fleet, broke through without much injury; 
nor did the English lose any ships till the evening, when 
the Garland, carrying forty guns, was boarded at once 
by two great ships, which were opposed by the English 
till they had scarcely any men left to defend the decks; 
then, retiring into the lower part of the vessel, they blew 
up their decks, which were now possessed by the enemy, 
and at length were overpowered and taken. The Bona- 
venture, a stout well-built merchant ship, going to re- 
lieve the Garland, was attacked by a man of war, and after 
a stout resistance, in which the captain, who defended 
her with the utmost bravery, was killed, was likewise 
carried off" by the Dutch. Blake, in the Triumph, seeing >j 
the Garland in distress, pressed forward to relieve her, 
but in his way had his foremast shattered, and vras him- 
self boarded; but beating ofi^ the enemies, he disengaged 
himself, and retired into the Thames with the loss only 
of two ships of force, and four small frigates, but with 
his whole fleet much shattered. Nor was the victory gain- 
ed at a cheap rate, notwithstanding the unusual dispro- 



.^^im\ 



BLAKE. 43 

portion of strength; for of the Dutch Flag-ships one was 
blown up, and the other two disabled; a proof of the En- 
glish bravery, which should have induced Van Trump 
to have spared the insolence of carrying a broom at his 
topmast in his triumphant passage through the Channel, 
which he intended as a declaration that he would sweep 
the seas of the English shipping. This, which he had lit- 
tle reason to think of accomplishing, he soon after per- 
ished in attempting. 

There are sometimes observations and enquires, which 
all historians seem to decline by agreement, of which 
this action may afford us an example. Nothing appears 
at the first view more to demand our curiosity, or afford 
matter for examination, than this wild encounter of 
twenty-two ships with a force, according to their accounts 
who favour the Dutch, three times superior. Nothing can 
justify a commander in fighting under such disadvan- 
tages, but the impossibility of retreating. But what hin- 
dered Blake from retiring as well before the fight as 
after it? To say he was ignorant of the strength of the 
Dutch fleet, is to impute to him a very criminal degree 
of negligence; and at least it must be confessed that, from 
the time he saw them, he could not but know they were 
too powerful to be opposed by him, and even then there 
was time for retreat. To urge the ardour of his satfors, 
is to divest him of the authority of a commander, and to 
charge him with the most reproachful weakness that can 
fenter into the character of a general. To mention the 
impetuosity of his own courage, is to make the blame of 
his temerity equal to the praise of his valour; which 
seems indeed to be tlie most gentle censure that the truth 
of history will allow. We must then admit, amidst our 
eulogies and applauses, that the great, the wise, and the 
valiant Blake, was once betrayed to an inconsiderate and 
desperate enterpiize, by the resistless ardour of his own 
spirit, and a noble jealousy of the honour of his country. 



44 BLAKE. 

It was not long before he had an opportunity of re- 
venging his loss, and restraining the insolence of the 
Dutch. On the 18th of February, 1652-3, Blake being at 
the head of eighty sail, and assisted, at his own request, 
by colonels Monk and Dean, espied Van Trump with a 
fleet of above 100 men of war as Clarendon relates, of 
70 by their own publick accounts, and 300 merchant- 
ships under his convoy. The English with their usual in- 
trepidity, advanced towards them; and Blake in the Tri- 
umph, in which he always led his fleet, with twelve 
ships more, came to an engagement with the main body 
of the Dutch fleet, and by the disparity of their force was 
reduced to the last extremity, having received in his hull 
no fewer than 700 shots, when Lawson in the Fairfax 
came to his assistance. The rest of the English fleet now 
came in, and the fight was continued with the utmost 
degree of vigour and resolution, till the night gave the 
Dutch an opportunity of retiring with tlie loss of one 
flag-ship, and six other men of war. The English had 
many vessels damaged, but none lost. On board Law son's 
ship were killed 100 men, andfasmanyon board Blake's, 
who lost his captain and secretary, and himself received 
a wound in the thigh. 

Blake, having set ashore his wounded men, sailed in 
pursuit of Van Trump, who sent his convoy before, and 
himself retired fighting towards BuUoign. Blake ordered 
his light frigates to follow the merchants; still continued 
to harass Van Trump; and on the third day, the 20th of 
February, the two fleets came to another battle, in which 
Van Trump once more retired before the EngHsh, and 
making use of the peculiar form of his shipping, secured 
himself in the shoals. The accounts of this fight, as of all 
the others, are various; but the Dutch writers themselves 
confess that they lost eight men of war, and more than 
twenty merchant-ships; and it is probable that they suf- 
fered much more than they arc willing to allow; for tliese 



BLAKE. 45 

repeated defeats provoked the common people to riots 
and insurrections, and obliged the States to ask, though 
ineffectually, for peace. 

In April following the form of government in Eng- 
land was changed, and the supreme authority assumed 
by Cromwell; upon which occasion Blake, with his asoci- 
ates, declared, that notwithstanding the change in the ad- 
ministration, they should still be ready to discharge their 
trust, and to defend the nation from insults, injuries, and 
encroachments. "It is not,'* said Blake, "the business of 
a seaman to mind state affairs, but to hinder foreigners 
from fooling us." This was the principle from which he 
never deviated, and which he always endeavoured to in- 
culcate in the fleet, as the surest foundation of unanimi- 
ty and steadiness. "Disturb not one another with domestic 
disputes; but remember that we are English, and our 
enemies are foreigners. Enemies! which let what party 
soever prevail, it is equally the interest of our country to 
humble and restrain." 

After the 30th of April, 1653, Blake, Monk and Dean, 
mailed out of the English harbours with 100 men of war, 
and, finding the Dutch with seventy sail on their own 
coasts, drove them to the Texel, and took fifty doggers. 
Then they sailed Northward in pursuit of Van Trump, 
who, having a fleet of merchants under his convoy, durst 
not enter the Channel, but steered towards the Sound, and 
by great dexterity and address escaped the three English 
admirals, and brought all his ships into their harbour; 
then knowing that Blake was still in the North, came 
before Dover, and fired upon that town, but was driven 
off by the castle. 

Monk and Dean stationed themselves again at the 
mouth of the Texel, and blocked up the Dutch in their 
own ports with eighty sail; but hearing that Van Trump 
was at Goree with 120 men of war, they ordered all ships 
of force in the river and ports to repair to them. 



46 BLAKE. 

On June the Sd, the two fleets came to an engagement, 
in the beginning of which Dean was carried off by a can- 
non ball; yet the fight continued from about twelve to 
six in the afternoon, when the Dutch gave way and re- 
treated fighting. 

On the 4th in the afternoon, Blake came up with eigh- 
teen fresh ships, and procured the English a complete 
victory; nor could the Dutch any otherwise preserve 
their ships than by retiring once more into the flats and 
shallows, where the largest of the English vessels could 
not approach. 

In this battle Van Trumn boarded Vice-admiral Pen; 
but was beaten off, and himself boarded, and reduced to 
blow up his decks, of which the English had got posses- 
sion. He was then entered at once by Pen and another; 
nor could possibly have escaped had not De Ruyter and 
De Witt arrived at that instant and rescued him. 

However the Dutch may endeavour to extenuate their 
loss in this battle, by admitting no more than eight ships 
to have been taken or destroyed, it is evident that they 
must have received much greater damages, not only by the 
accounts of more impartial historians, but by the remon- 
strances and exclamations of their admirals themselves; 
Van Trump declaring before the States, that "without a 
numerous reinforcement of large men of war, he could 
serve them no more:" and De Witt, crying out before 
them, with the natural warmth of his character, "Why 
should I be silent before my lords and masters? The 
English are our masters, and by consequence masters of 
the sea." 

In November 1654, Blake was sent by Cromwell into 
the Mediterranean with a powerful fleet, and may be said 
to have received the homage of all that part of the world, 
being equally courted by the hauii;hty Spaniards, the surly 
Dutch, and the lawless Algerines. 

In March 1656, having forced Algiers to submission, 



BLAKE. 47 

he entered the harbour of Tunis, and demanded repara- 
tion for the robberies practised upon the English by the 
pirates of that place, and insisted that the captives of his 
nation should be set at liberty. The governor, having 
planted batteries along the shore, and drawn up his ships 
under the castles, sent Blake an haughty and insolent 
answer, '^ There are our castles of Goletta and Porto 
Ferino,*' said he, " upon which you may do your worst;" 
adding other menaces and insults, and mentioning ia 
terms of ridicule the inequality of a fight between ships 
and castles. Blake had likewise demanded leave to take 
in water, which was refused him. Fired with this inhu- 
man and insolent treatment, he curled his whiskers, as 
was his custom when he was angry, and entering Porto 
Ferino with his great ships, discharged his shot so fast 
upon the batteries and castles^ that in two hours the guns 
were dismounted, and the works forsaken, though he 
was at first exposed to the fire of sixty cannon. He then 
ordered his officers to send out their long-boats well man- 
ned to seize nine of the piratical ships lying in the road, 
himself continuing to fire upon the castle. This \vas so 
bravely executed, that with the loss of only twenty-five 
"men killed, and forty-eight wounded, all the ships were 
fired in the sight of Tunis. Thence sailing to Tripoly 
he concluded a peace with that nation; then returning to 
Tunis, he found nothing but submission. And such in- 
deed was his reputation, that he met with no farther op- 
position, but collected a kind of tribute from the princes of 
those countries; his business being to demand reparation 
for all the injuries offered to the English during the civil 
wars. He exacted from the Duke of Tuscany 60,000/.; 
and, as it is said, sent home sixteen ships laden with the 
efiects which he had received from several states. 

The respect with which he obliged all foreigners t© 
treat his countrymen, appears from a story related by 
Bishop Burnet. When he lay before Malaga, in a time 



48 BLAKE. 

of peace with Spain, some of his sailors went ashore, and 
meeting a procession of the host, not only refused to pay 
any respect to it, but laughed at those that did. The peo- 
ple, being put by one of the priests upon resenting this 
indignity, fell upon them, and beat them severely. 
When they returned to their ship, they complained 
of their ill treatment; upon which Blake sent to de- 
mand the priest who had procured it. The viceroy 
answered that, having no authority over the priests, 
he could not send him: to which Blake replied, " that 
" he did not enquire into the extent of the viceroy's 
" authority; but that if the priest were not sent within 
*' three hours, he would burn the town.** The viceroy 
then sent the priest to him, who pleaded the provocation 
given by the seamen. Blake bravely and rationally an- 
swered, that if he had complained to him, he would have 
punished them severely, for he would not have his men 
affront the established religion of any place; but that he 
was angry that the Spaniards should assume that power, 
for he would have all the world know *' that an Eng- 
lishman was only to be punished by an Englishman.** So 
having used the priest civilly, he sent him back, being 
satisfied that he was in his power. This conduct so much 
pleased Cromwell, that he read the letter in council with 
great satisfaction, and said, " he hoped to make the 
name of an Englishman as great as ever that of a Roman 
had been." 

In 1656, the Protector having declared war against 
Spain, dispatched Blake with twenty-five men of war to 
infest their coasts, and intercept their shipping. In pur- 
suance of these orders he cruised all winter about the 
Straits, and then lay at the mouth of the harbour of 
Cales, where he received intelligence that the Spanish 
Plate-fleet lay at anchor in the bay of Santa-Cruz, in 
the Isle of Teneriffe. On the 13th of April, 1657, he de- 
parted from Cales, and on the 20th arrived at Santa- 



BLAKE. 49 

Cruz, where he found sixteen Spanish vessels. The bay- 
was defended on the north side by a castle well mounted 
with cannon, and in other parts wiih seven forts with can- 
non proportioned to the bigness, all united by a line of 
comnriunication manned with musqueteers. The Spanish 
admiral drew up his small ships under the cannon of the 
castle, and stationed six great galleons with their broad- 
sides to the sea: an advantageous and prudent position, 
but of little effect agamst the English commander; who, 
determining to attack them, ordered Stayner to enter 
the bay with his squadron; then, posting some of his lar- 
ger ships to play upon the fortifications, himself attacked 
the galleons, which, after a gallant resistance, were at 
length abandoned by the Spaniards, though the least of 
them was bigger than the biggest of Blake's ships. The 
forts and smaller vessels being now shattered and forsa- 
ken, the whole fleet was set on fire, the galleons by Blake, 
and the smallest vessels by Stayner, the English vessels 
being too much shattered in the fight to bring them 
away. Thus was the whole Plate-fleet destroyed, " and 
the Spaniards," according to Rapin's remark, " sustain- 
ed a great loss of ships, money, men, and merchandize^ 
while the English gained nothing but glory." As if he 
that increases the military reputation of a people did not 
increase their power, and he that weakens his enemy in 
effect strengthens himself. 

" The whole action," says Clarendon, " was so incredi- 
'ble, that all men, whoknew the place, wondered that any 
sober man, with what courage soever endowed, would 
ever have undertaken it; and they could hardly persuade 
themselves to believe what they had done; while the 
Spaniards comforted themselves with the belief, that 
they were devils, and not men, who had destroyed them 
in such a manner. So much a strong resolution of bold 
and courao;eous men can bring to pass, that no resistance 
•r advantage of ground can disappoint them, and it can 

Vol. Xil. C 



50 BLAKE. 

hardly be imagined how small a loss the English sus- 
tained in this unparalleled action, not one ship being left 
behind, and the killed and wounded not exceeding 200 
men; when the slaughter on board the Spanish ships and 
on shore was incredible." The General cruised for some 
time afterwards with his victorious fleet at the mouth 
of Gales, to intercept the Spanish shipping; but finding 
his constitution broken by the fatigue of the last three 
years, determined to return home, and died before he 
came to land. 

His body was embalmed, and having lain some time 
in state at Greenwich-house, was buried in Henry VH.'s 
chapel, with ail the funeral solemnity due to the remains 
of a man so famed for his bravery, and so spotless in his 
integrity; nor is it without regret that I am obliged to 
relate the treatment his body met a year after the Res- 
toration, when it was taken up by express command, and 
buried in a pit in St. Margaret's church yard. Had he 
been guilty of the murder of Charles I. to insult his body 
had been a mean revenge; but as he was innocent, ii was 
at least inhumanity, and perhaps ingratitude. " Let no 
man," says the Oriental proverb, " pull a dead lion by 
the beard." 

But that regard which was denied his body has been 
paid to his better remains, his name and his memory. 
Nor has any writer dared to deny him the praise of in- 
trepidity, honesty, contempt of wealth, and love of his 
country. " He was the first man," says Clarendon, " that 
declined the old track, and made it apparent that the sci- 
ences might be attained in less time than was imagined. 
He was the first man that brought ships to contemn cas- 
tles on shore, which had ever been thought very formid- 
able, but were discovered by him to make a noise only, 
and to fright those who could rarely be hurt by them. 
He was the first that infused that proportion of courage 
into seamen, by making them see, by experience, what 



BLAKE. 51 

mighty things they could do if they were resolved, and 
taught them to fight in fire as well as upon the water; 
and though he has been very well inaitated and followed, 
was the first that gave the example of that kind of naval 
courage, and bold and resolute achievements." 

To this attestation of his militaryexcellence, itmay be 
proper to subjoin an account of his moral character from 
the author of Lives English a?id Fortign. *^ He was jea- 
lous," says that writer, *' of the liberty of the subject, and 
the glory of his nation; and as he made use of no mean 
artifices to raise himself to the highest command at sea, 
so lie needed no interest but his merit to support him in 
it. He scorned nothing more than money, which, as fast 
as it came in, was laid out by him in the service of the 
state, and to shew that he was animated by that brave 
publick spirit, which has since been reckoned rather ro- 
mantick than heroick. And he was so dismterested, that 
though no man had more opportunities to enrich himself 
than he, who had taken so many millions from the ene- 
mies of England, yet he threw it all into the publick trea- 
sury, and did not die 500/. richer than his father left him; 
which the author avers from his personal knowledge of 
his family and their circumstances, having been bred up 
in it, and often heard his brother give this account of him. 
He was religious, according to the pretended purity of 
these times; but would frequently ailow himself to be 
merry with his officers, and by his tenderness and gen- 
erosity to the seamen had so endeared himself to ihem, 
that when he died they lamented his loss as that of a com- 
mon father." 

Instead of more testimonies, his character may be 
properly concluded with one incident of his life, by 
which it appears how much the spirit of Blake was su- 
perior to all private views. His brother, in the last action 
with the Spaniards, h^vin..'; not dene his duty, was at 
Blake's desire discarded, and the ship was given to ano- 



52 BLAKE. 

ther; yet was he not less regardful of him as a brother, 
for when he died he left him his estate, knowing him well 
qualified to adorn or enjoy a private fortune, though he 
had found him unfit to serve his country in a public 
character, and had therefore not suffered him to rob it. 



SIR FRANCIS BRAKE.* 



Francis drake was the son of a clergyman in 
Devonshire, who being inclined to the doctrine of the 
Protestants, at that time much opposed by Henry VIII. 
was obliged to fly from his place of residence into Kent 
for refuge, from the persecution raised against him, and 
those of the same opinion, by the law of the six articles. 

How long he lived there, or how he was supported, 
was not known; nor have we any account of tlie first 
years of Sir Francis Drake's life, of any disposition to 
hazards and adventures which might have been discover- 
ed in his childhood, or of the education which qualified 
him for such wonderful attempts. 

We are only informed, that he was put apprentice by 
his father to the master of a small vessel that traded to 
France and the Low Countries, under whom he probably 
learned the rudiments of navigation, and familiarised 
himself to the dangers and hardships of the sea. 

But how few opportunities soever he might have in 
this part of his life for the exercise of his courage, he 
gave so many proofs of diligence and fidelity, that his 
master dying unmariied left him his little vessel in re- 
ward of his services; a circumstance that deserves to be 

* This Life was ftrst printed in the Gentleman's Magazine, 
for 1740. N. 



54 SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 

remembered, not only as it may illustrate the private 
character of this brave man, but as it may hint, to all 
those who may hereafter propose his conduct for their 
imitation, that Virtue is the surest foundation both of 
reputation and fortune, and that the first step to greatness 
is to be honest. 

If it w^ere not improper to dwell longeron an incident 
at the first view so inconsiderable, it might be added, 
that it deserves the reflection of those, who, when they 
are engaged in affairs not adequate to their abilities, pass 
them over with a contemptuous neglect, and while they 
amuse themselves with chimerical schemes, and plans 
of future undertakings, suffer every opportunity of 
smaller advantage to slip away as unworthy their regard. 
They may learn from the example of Drake, that di- 
ligence in employments of less consequence is the most- 
successful introduction to greater enterprizcs. 

-After having followed for some time his master's pro- 
fession, he grew weary of so narrow a province, and, hav- 
ing sold his little vessel, ventured his effects in the new 
trade to the West Indies, which, having not been long 
discovered, and very little frequented by the English till 
that time, were conceived so much to abound in wealth, 
that no voyage thither could fail of being recompensed 
by great advantages. Nothing was talked of among the 
mercantile or adventurous part of mankind but the beau- 
ty and riches of the new world. Fresh discoveries were 
frequently made, new countries and nations never heard 
of before were daily described; and it may easily be con- 
cluded that the relaters did not diminish the merit of their 
attempts, by suppressing or diminishing any circum- 
stance that might produce wonder, or excite curiosity. 
Nor was their vanity only engaged in raising admirers, 
but their interest likewise in procuring adventurers, who 
were indeed easily gained by the hopes which naturally 
arise from new prospects, though through ignorance of 



SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 55 

the American seas, and by the malice of the Spaniards, 
who from the first discovery of those countries consider- 
ed every other nation that attempted to follow them as 
invaders of their rights, the best concerted designs often 
miscarried. 

Among those who suffered most from the Spanish in- 
justice was Captain John Hawkins, who, having been 
admitted by the viceroy to traffick in the Bay of Mexico, 
was-, contrary to the stipulation then made between them, 
and in violation of the peace between Spain and England, 
attacked without any declaration of hostilities, and oblig- 
ed, after an obstinate resistance, to retire with the loss 
of four ships, and a great number of his men, who were 
cither destroyed or carried into slavery. 

In this voyage Drake had adventured almost all his for- 
tune, which he in vain endeavoured to recover, both by 
his own private interest, and by obtaining letters from 
Queen Elizabeth; for the Spaniards, deaf to all remon- 
strances, either vindicated the injustice of the viceroy, 
or at least forbore to redress it. 

Drake, thus oppressed and impoverished, retained at 
least his courage and his industry, that ardent spirit that 
prompted him to adventures, and that indefatigable pa- 
tience that enabled him to surmount difficulties. He did 
not sit down idly to lament misfortunes which Heaven 
had put it in his power to remedy, or to repine at pover- 
ty while the wealth of his enemies was to be gained. 
But having made two voyages to America for the sake 
of gaining intelligence of the state of the Spanish settle- 
ments, and acquainted himself with the seas and coasts, 
he determined on a third expedition of more importance, 
by which the Spaniards should find how imprudently 
they always act who injure and insult a brave man. 

On the 24th of May, 1572, Francis Drake set sail 
from Plymouth in the Pascha of seventy tons, accom- 
panied by the Swan of twenty-five tons, commanded by 



66 SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 

his brother John Drake, having in both the vessels 
seventy -three men and boys, with a year's provision, and 
such artillery and ammunition as was necessary for his 
undertaking, which, however incredible it may appear to 
such as consider rather his force than his fortitude, was 
no less than to make reprisals upon the most powerful 
nation in the world. 

The wind continuing favourable, they entered, June 
29, between Guadaloupe and Dominica, and on July 6th 
saw the highland of Santa Martha; then continuing 
their course, after having been becalmed for some 
time, they arrived at Port Phesant, so named by 
Drake in a former voyage to the East of Nombre de 
Dios. Here he proposed to build his pinnaces, which he 
had brought in pieces ready framed from Plymouth, and 
was going ashore with a few men unarmed, but, dis- 
covering a smoke at a distance, ordered the other boat 
to follow him with a greater force. 

Then marching towards the fire, which was in the top 
of a high tree, he found a plate of lead nailed to another 
tree, with an inscription engraved upon it by one Garret 
an Englishman, who had left that place but five days 
before, and had taken this method of informing him that 
the Spaniards had been advertised of his intention to an- 
chor at that place, and that it therefore would be pru- 
dent to make a very short stay there. 

But Drake knowing how convenient this place was for 
his designs, and considering that the hazard and waste 
of time which could not be avoided in seeking another 
station, was equivalent to any other danger which was 
to be apprehended from the Spaniards, determined to 
follow his first resolution; only, for his greater security, 
he ordered a kind of palisade, or fortification, to be made, 
by felling large trees, and laying the trunks and bran- 
ches one upon another by the side of the river. 

On July 20, having built their pinnaces, and being 
joined by one Captain Rause, who happened to touch at 



SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 57 

the same place with a bark of fifty men, they set sail to- 
wards Nombre de Dios; and, taking two frigates at the 
Island of Pines, were informed by the Negroes which 
they found in them, that the inhabitants of that place 
were in expectation of some soldiers, which the gover- 
nor of Panama had promised, to defend them from the 
Symerons, or fugitive Negroes, who, having escaped 
from the tyranny of their masters in great numbers, 
had settled themselves under two kings, or leaders, on 
each side of the way between Nombre de Dios and 
Panama, and not only asserted their natural right to 
liberty and independence, but endeavoured to revenge 
the cruelties they had suffered, and had lately put the 
inhabitants of Nombre de Dios into the utmost con- 
sternation. 

These Negroes the captain set on shore on the main 
land, so that they might, by joining the Symerons, re- 
cover their liberty, or at least might not have it in their 
power to give the people of Nombre de Dios any speedy 
information of his intention to invade them. 

Then selecting fifty -three men from his own compa- 
ny, and twenty from the crew of his new associate captain 
Rause, he embarked with them in his pinnaces, and set 
sail for Nombre de Dios. 

On July the 28th, at night, he approached the town 
undiscovered, and dropped his anchors under the shore, 
intending, after his men were refreshed, to begin the at- 
tack; but finding that they were terrifying each other 
with formidable accounts of the strength of the place, 
and the multitude of the inhabitants, he determined to 
hinder the panick from spreading farther, by leading 
them immediately to action; and therefore ordering 
them to their oars, he landed without any opposition, 
there being only one gunner upon the bay, though it was 
secured with six brass cannons of the largest size ready 
mounted. But the gunner, while they were throwing the 
cannons from their carriages, alarmed the town, as thev 

C 2 



58 SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 

jsoon discovered, by the bell, the drums, and the noise of 
the people. 

Drake, leaving twelve men to guard the pinnaces, 
marched round the town with no great opposition, the 
men being more hurt by treading on the weapons left on 
the ground by the flying enemy, than by the resistance 
which they encountered. 

At length having taking some of the Spaniards, Drake 
commanded them to shew him the governor's house, 
where the mules that bring the silver from Panama were 
unloaded; there they found the door open, and entering 
the room where the silver was reposited, found it heaped 
up in bars in such quantities as almost exceed belief, the 
pile being, tiiey conjectured, seventy feet in length, ten 
in breadth, and twelve in height, each bar weighing be- 
tween thirty and forty -five pounds. 

It is easy to imagine that, at the sight of this treasure, 
nothing was thought on by the English but by what 
means they might best convey it to their boats; and 
doubtless it was not easy for Drake, who, considering 
their distance from the shore, and the numbers of their 
enemies, was afraid of being intercepted in his retreat, 
to hinder his men from encumbering themselves with so 
much silver as might have retarded their march, and ob- 
structed the use of their weapons; however, by promising 
to lead them to the king's treasure-house, where there 
was gold and Jewels to a far greater value, and where 
the treasure was not only more portable, but nearer the 
coast, he persuaded them to follow him, and rejoin the 
main body of his men then drawn up under the command 
of his brother in the market-place. 

Here he found his little troop much discouraged by 
the imagination, that if they staid any longer the enemy 
would gain possession of their pinnaces, and that they 
should then, without any means of safety, be left to stand 
alcme against the whole power of that coimtry. Drake, 



SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 59 

not indeed easily terrified, but sufficiently cautious, sent 
to the coast, to enquire the truth, and see if the same 
terror had taken possession of the men whom he had left 
to t^uard his boats; but, finding no foundation for these 
dreadful apprehensions, he persisted in his first design, 
and led the troop forward to the treasure-house. In their 
way there fell a violent shower of rain which wet some of 
their bow-strings, and extinguished many of their match- 
es; a misfortune which might soon have been repaired, and 
which perhaps the enemy might suffer in common with 
them, but which however on this occasion very much 
embarrassed them, as the delay produced by it repressed 
that ardour which sometimes is only to be kept up by 
continued action, and gave time to the timorous and 
slothful to spread their insinuations, and propagate their 
cowardice. Some, whose fear was their predominant pas- 
sion, were continually magnifying the numbers and cour- 
age of their enemies, and represented whole nations as 
ready to rush upon them; others, whose avarice mingled 
with their concern for their own safety, were more soli- 
citous to preserve what they had already gained, than to 
acquire more; and others, brave in themselves, and reso- 
lute, began to doubt of success in an undertaking in which 
they were associated with such cowardly companions. 
So that scarcely any man appeared to proceed in their en- 
terprize with that spirit and alacrity which could give 
Drake a prospect of success. 

This he perceived, and with some ertiotion told them, 
that if, after having had the chief treasure of the world 
within their reach, they should go home and languish 
in poverty, they could blame nothing but their own cow- 
ardice; that he had performed his part, and was still desi- 
rous to lead them on to riches and to honour. 

Then, finding that neither shame nor conviction made 
them willing to follow him, he ordered the treasure- 
house to be forced, and commanding his brother, and 



60 SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 

Oxenham of Plymouth, a man known afterwards for his 
bold adventures in the same parts, to take charge of the 
treasure, he commanded the other body to follow him to 
the market-place, that he might be ready to oppose any 
scattered troops of the Spaniards, and hinder them from 
uniting into one body. 

But as he stepped forward, his strength failed him on 
a sudden, and he fell down speechless. Then it was that 
his companions perceived a wound in his leg, which he 
had received in the first encounter, but hitherto conceal- 
ed, lest his men, easily discouraged, should make their 
concern for his life a pretence for returning to their 
boats. Such had been his loss of blood, as was discovered 
upon nearer observation, that it had filled the prints of 
his footsteps, and it appeared scarce credible that after 
such effusion of blood, life should remain. 

The bravest were now willing to retire: neither the 
desire of honour nor of riches was thought enough to 
prevail in any man over his regard for his leader. Drake, 
whom cordials had now restored to his speech, was the 
only man who could not be prevailed on to leave the en- 
terprize unfinished. It was to no purpose that they advis- 
ed him to submit to go on board to have his wound dress- 
ed, and promised to return with him, and complete their 
design; he well knew how impracticable it was to regain 
the opportunity when it was once lost, and could easily 
foresee that a respite, but of a few hours, would enable 
the Spaniards to recover from their consternation, to as- 
semble their forces, refit their batteries, and remove their 
treasure. What he had undergone so much danger to 
obtain was now in his hands; and the thought of leaving 
it untouched was too mortifying to be patienth' borne. 

However, as there was little time for consultation, 
and the same danger attended their stay in that perplexr 
ity and confusion, as their return, they bound up his 
wound with his scarfj and partly by force, partly by in- 



SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 6 1 

treaty, carried him to the boats, in which they all em- 
barked by break of day. 

Then taking with them, out of the harbour, a ship 
loaded with wines, they went to the Bastimentes, an 
island about a league from the town, where they staid 
two days, to repose the wounded men, and to regale them- 
selves with the fruits which grew in great plenty in the 
gardens of that island. 

During their stay here, there came over from the 
main land a Spanish gentleman, sent by the governor, 
with instructions to enquire whether the captain was that 
Drake who had been before on their coast; whether the 
arrows with which many of their men were wounded 
were not poisoned, and whether they wanted provisions 
or other necessaries. The messenger likewise extolled 
their courage with the highest encomiums, and express- 
ed his admiration of their daring undertaking. Drake, 
though he knew the civilities of an enemy are always to 
be suspected, and that the messenger, amidst all his 
professions of regard, was no other than a spy, yet know- 
ing that he had nothing to apprehend, treated him with 
the highest honours that his condition admitted of. In 
answer to his enquires, he assured him that he was the 
same Drake with whose character they were before ac- 
quainted, that he was a rigid observer of the laws of war, 
and never permitted his arrows to be poisoned: he then 
dismissed him with considerable presents, and told him 
that, though he had unfortunately failed in this attempt, 
he would never desist from his design till he had shared 
with Spain the treasures of America. 

They then resolved to return to the Isle of Pines, 
where they had left their ships, and consult about the 
measures they were now to take, and having arrived, Au- 
gust l,at their former station, they dismissed Captain 
Rause, who judging it unsafe to stay any longer on the 
coast, desired to be no longer engaged in their designs. 



62 SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 

But Drake, not to be discouraged from his purpose Ky 
a single disappointment, after having enquired of a 
Negro, whom he took on board at Nombre de Dios, the 
most wealthy settlements, and weakest parts of the coast, 
resolved to take Carthagena; and setting sail without 
loss of time, came to anchor, August 13,. between Cha- 
resha and St. Barnard's, two islands at a little distance 
from the harbour of Carthagena: then passing with his 
boats round the island he entered the harbour, and in 
the mouth of it found a frigate with only an old man in 
it, who voluntarily informed them, that about an hour 
before a pinnace had passed by with sails and oars, and 
all the appearance of expedition and importance; that, as 
she passed, the crew on board her bid them take care of 
themselves: and that, as soon as she touched the shore, 
they heard the noise of cannon fired as a warning, and 
saw the shipping in the port drawn up under the guns 
6f the castle. 

The captain, who had himself heard the discharge of 
the artillery, was soon convinced that he was discovered, 
and, that therefore nothing could be attempted with any 
probability of success. He therefore contented himself 
with taking a ship of Seville, of two hundred and forty 
tons, which the relater of this voyage mentions as a very 
large ship, and two small frigates, in which he found 
letters of advice from Nombre de Dios, intended to alarm 
that part of the coast. 

Drake now finding his pinnaces of great use, and not 
having a sufficient number of sailors for all his vessels, 
was desirous of destroying one of his ships, that his 
'pinnaces might be better manned: this, necessary as it 
was, could not easily be done without disgusting his com- 
pany, who having made several prosperous voyages in 
that vessel, would be unwilling to have it destroyed. 
Drake well knew that nothing but the love of their 
leaders could animate his followers to encounter such 



SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 63 

hardships as he was about to expose them to, and there- 
fore rather chose to bring his designs to pass by artifice 
than authority. He sent for the carpenter of the Swan, 
took him into his cabin, and, having first engaged him 
to secrecy, ordered him in the middle of the night to go 
down into the well of the ship, and bore three holes 
through the bottom, laying something against them that 
might hinder the bubbling of the water from being heard. 
To this the carpenter, after some expostulation, consen- 
ted, and the next night performed his promise. 

In the morning, iVugust 15, Drake going out with his 
pinnace a fishing, rowed up to the Swan, and having in- 
vited his brother to partake of his diversions, enquired, 
with a negligent air why their bark was so deep in the 
water: upon which the steward going down, returned 
immediately with an account that the ship was leaky, 
and in danger of sinking in a little time. They had re- 
course immediately to the pump: but, having laboured 
till three in the afternoon, and gained very little upon 
the water, they willingly, according to Drake's advice, 
set the vessel on fire, and went on board the pinnaces. 

Finding it now necessary to lie concealed for some 
time, till the Spaniards should forget their danger, and 
remit their vigilance, they set sail for the Sound of Da- 
rien; and without approaching the coast, that their course 
might not be observed, they arrived there in six days. 

This being a convenient place for their reception, both 
on account of privacy, as it was out of the road of all 
trade, and as it was well supplied with wood, water, wild 
fowl, hogs, deer, and all kinds of provisions, he staid 
here fifteen days to clean his vessels, and refresh his 
men, who worked interchangeably, on one day the one 
half and on the next the other. 

On the fifth day of September, Drake left his brother 
with the ship at Darien, and set out with his pinnaces 
towards the Rio Grande, which he reached in three days., 



64 SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 

and on the ninth was discovered by a Spaniard from 
the bank, who believing them to be his countrymen, 
made a signal to them to come on shore, with which 
they very readily complied; but he soon finding his mis- 
take abandoned his plantation, where they found great 
plenty of provisions, with which having laden their ves- 
sels, they departed. So great was the quantity of provi- 
sions which they amassed here and in other places, that 
in different parts of the coast they built four magazines 
or storehouses, which they filled with necessaries for the 
prosecution of their voyage. These they placed at such 
a distance from each other, that the enemy, if he should 
surprise one, might yet not discover the rest. 

In the mean time, his brother Captain John Drake 
went, according to the instructions that had been left him, 
in search of the Symerons or fugitive Negroes, from 
whose assistance alone they had now any prospect of a 
successful voyage: and touching upon the main land, by 
means of the Negro whom they had taken from Nombre 
de Dios, engaged two of them to come on board his pin- 
nace, leaving two of their own men as hostages for their 
returning. These men, having assured Drake of the 
affection of their nation, appointed an interview between 
him and their leaders. So leaving Port Plenty, in the isle 
of Pines, so named by the English from the great stores 
of provisions which they had amassed at that place, they 
came, by the direction of the Symerons, into a secret 
bay among beautiful islands covered with trees, which 
concealed their ship from observation, and where the 
channel was so narrow and rocky, that it was impossi- 
ble to enter it by night; so that there was no danger of a 
sudden attack. 

Here they met, and entered into engagements, which 
common enemies and common dangers preserved from 
violation. But the first conversation informed the Eng- 
lish, that their expectations were not immediately to be 



SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 65 

gratified; for upon their enquiries after the most proba- 
ble means of gaining gold and silver, the Symerons told 
them that, had they known sooner the chief end of their 
expedition, they could easily have gratified them; but 
that during the rainy season, which was now begun, and 
which continues six months, they could not recover 
the treasure, which they had taken from the Spaniards, 
out of the rivers in which they had concealed it. 

Drake, therefore, proposing to wait in this place till 
the rains were past, built, with the assistance of the Sy- 
merons, a fort of earth and timber, and leaving part of 
his company with the Symerons, set out with three pin- 
naces towards Carthagena, being of a spirit too active 
to lie still patiently, even in a state of plenty and secu- 
rity, and with the most probable expectations of im- 
mense riches. 

On the 16th of October, he anchored within sight of 
Carthagena without landing; and on the 17th, going out 
to sea, took a Spanish bark, with which they entered the 
harbour, where they were accosted by a Spanish gen- 
tleman, whom they had some time before taken and set 
at liberty, who coming to them in a boat, as he preten- 
ded, without the knowledge of the governor, made them 
great promises of refreshment and professions of esteem; 
but Drake, having waited till the next morning without 
receiving the provisions he had been prevailed upon to 
expect, found that all this pretended kindness was no 
more than a stratagem to amuse him, while the governor 
was rasing forces for his destruction. 

October 20, they took two frigates coming out of 
Carthagena without lading. Why the Spaniards know- 
ing Drake to lie at the mouth of the harbour, sent out 
their vessels on purpose to be taken, does not appear. 
Perhaps they thought that, in order to keep possession 
of his prizes, he would divide his company, and by that 
division be more easily destroyed. 



66 SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 

In a few hours afterwards they sent out two frigates 
well manned, which Drake soon forced to retire, and 
having sunk one of his prizes, and burnt the other 
in their sight, leaped afterwards ashore, single, in de- 
fiance of their troops, which hovered at a distance in the 
woods and on the hills, without ever venturing to ap- 
proach within reach of the shot from the pinnaces. 

To leap upon an enemy's coast in sight of a superior 
force, only to shew how little they were feared, was an 
act that would in these times meet with little applause; 
nor can the general be seriously commended, or ration- 
ally vindicated, who exposes his person to destruction, 
and by consequence his expedition to miscarriage, only 
for the pleasure of an idle insult, an insignificant bravado. 
All that can be urged in his defence is, that perhaps it 
might contribute to heighten the esteem of his follow- 
ers; as few men, especially of that class, are philosophi- 
cal enough to state the exact limits of prudence and bra- 
very, or not to be dazzled with an intrepidity how im- 
properly soever exerted. It may be added, that perhaps 
the Spaniards, whose notions of courage are sufficients^ 
romantic, might look upon him as a more formidable 
enemy, and yield more easily to a hero of whose forti- 
tude they had so high an idea. 

However, finding the whole country advertised of his 
attempts and in arms to oppose him he thought it not 
proper to stay longer where there was no probability of 
success, and where he might in time be overpowered 
by Tiiultitudes, and therefore determined to go forwards 
to Rio de Heta. 

This resolution, when it was known by his followers, 
threw them into astonishment; and the company of one 
of his pinnaces remonstrated to him, that though they 
placed the highest confidence in his conduct, they could 
not think of undertaking such a voyage without provi- 
sions, having only a gammon of bacoDj and a small quan- 



SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 67 

tity of bread, for seventeen men. Drake answered them, 
that there uas on board his vessels even a greater scar- 
city; but yet, if they would adventure to share his for- 
tune, he did not doubt of extricating them from all their 
difficulties. 

Such was the heroic spirit of Drake, that he never 
suffered himself to be diverted from his designs by any 
difficulties, nor ever thought of relieving his exigencies, 
but at the expence of his enemies. 

Resolution and success reciprocally produce each 
other. He had not sailed more than three leagues, before 
they discovered a large ship, which they attacked with all 
the intrepidity that necessity inspires, and happily found 
it laden with excellent provisions. 

But finding his crew growing faint and sickly with 
their manner of living in the pinnaces, which was 
less commodious than on board the ships, he determined 
to go back to the Symerons, with whom he left his 
brother and part of his force, and attempt by their con- 
duct to make his way over, and invade the Spaniards in 
the inland parts, where they would probably never dream 
of an enemy. 

When they arrived at Port Diego, so named from the 
Negro who had procured them their intercourse with the 
Symerons, they found Captain John Drake and one of 
his company dead, being killed in attempting, almost 
unarmed, to board a frigate well provided with all things 
necessary for its defence. The Captain was unwilling to 
attack it, and represented to them the madness of their 
proposal; but, being overborne by their clamours and 
importunities, to avoid the imputation of cowardice, 
complied to his destruction. So dangerous is it for the 
chief commander to be absent. 

Nor was this their only misfortune; for in a very short 
time many of them were attacked by the calenture, a 
malignant fever, very frequent in the hot climates, which 



S8 SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 

carried away, among several others, Joseph Drake, ano- 
ther brother of the commander. 

While Drake was employed in taking care of the sick 
men, the Symerons, who ranged the country for intelli- 
gence, brought him an account, that the Spanish fleet 
was arrived at Nombre de Dios, the truth of which was 
confirmed by a pinnace, which he sent out to make ob- 
servations. 

This, therefore, was the time for their journey, when 
the treasures of the American mines were to be trans- 
ported from Panama, over land to Nombre de Dios. He 
therefore by the direction of the Symerons, furnished 
himself with all things necessary, and on Febuary 3, set 
out from Port Diego. 

Having lost already twenty-eight of his company, and 
being under the necessity of leaving some to guard his 
ship, he took with him only eighteen English, and thir- 
ty Symerons, who not only served as guides to shew the 
way, but as purveyors to procure provisions. 

They carried not only arrows for war, but for hunt- 
ing and fowling; the heads of which are proportioned in 
size to the game which they are pursuing; for oxen, 
stags, or wild boars, they have arrows or javelins, with 
heads weighing a pound and half, which they discharge 
near hand, and which scarcely ever fail of being mortal. 
The second sort are about half as heavy as the other, 
and ate generally shot from their bows; these are inten- 
ded for smaller beasts. With the third sort, of which the 
heads are an ounce in weight, they kill birds. As this na- 
tion is in a state that does not set them above continual 
cares for the immediate necessaries of life, he that can 
temper iron best is among them most esteemed, and, per- 
haps, it would be happy for every nation, if honours and 
applauses were as justly distributed, and he were most 
disiinguished whose abilities were most useful to society. 
How many chimerical titles to precedence, how many 



SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 69 

false pretences to respect, would this rule bring to the 
ground! 

tvery day, by sun-rising, they began to march; and, 
having travelled till ten, rested near some river till 
twelve, then travelling again till four, they reposed all 
night in houses, which the Symerons had either left 
standing in their former marches, or very readily erect- 
ed for them, by setting up three or four posts in the 
ground, and laying poles from one to another in form 
of a roof, which they thatched with palmetto boughs 
and plantane leaves. In the valleys, where they were 
sheltered from the winds, they left three or four feet 
below open; but on the hills, where they were more ex- 
posed to the chill blasts of the night, they thatched them 
close to the ground, leaving only a door for entrance, 
and a vent in the middle of the room for the smoke 
of three fires, which they made in every house. 

In their march they met not only with plenty of fruits 
upon the banks of the rivers, but with wild swine in 
great abundance, of which the Symerons, without dif- 
ficulty, killed, for the most part, as much as was wanted. 
One day, however, they foimd an otter, and were about 
to dress it; at which Drake expressing his wonder, was 
asked by Pedro, the chief Symeron, " Are you a man of 
war and in want, and yet doubt whether this be meat 
that hath blood in it?" For which Drake in private re- 
buked him, says the relater; whether justly or not, it is 
not very important to determine. There seems to be in 
Drake's scruple somewhat of superstition, perhaps not 
easily to be justified; and the negroe's answer was at least 
martial, and will, I believe, be generally acknowledged 
to be rational. 

On the third day of their march, Feb. 6, they came 
to a town of the Symerons, situated on the side of a hill, 
and encompassed with a ditch and a mud wall, to secure 
it from a sudden surprise: here they lived with great 



# 



70 SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 

neatness and plenty, and some observation ofreligioij, 
paying great reverence to the cross; a practice which 
Drake prevailed upon them to change for the use of the 
Lord's prayer. Here they importuned Drake to stay for 
a few days, promising to double his strength; but he 
either thinking greater numbers unnecessary, or fearing 
that, if any difference should arise, he should be over- 
borne by the number of Symerons, or that they would 
demand to share the plunder that should be taken in 
common, or for some other reason that might easily 
occur, refused any addition to his troop, endeavouring 
to express his refusal in such terms as might heighten 
their opinion of his bravery. 

He then proceeded on his journey through cool 
shades, and lofty woods, which sheltered them so effec- 
tually from the sun, that their march was less toilsorhc 
than if they had travelled in England during the heat 
of the summer. Four of the Symerons that were ac- 
quainted with the way, went about a mile before the troop, 
and scattered branches to direct them; then followed 
twelve Symerons, after whom came the English, \vith the 
two leaders, and the other Symerons closed the rear. 

On February 1 1, they arrived at the top of a very high 
hill, on the summit of which grew a tree of wonderful 
greatness, in which they had cut steps for the more easy 
ascent to tlr top, where there was a kind of a tower, to 
which they invited Drake, and from thence shewed him 
not only the North Sea, from whence they came, but the 
great South Sea, on which «o English vessel had ever 
sailed. This prospect exciting his natural curiosity and 
ardour for adventures and discoveries, he lifted up his 
hands to God and implored his blessing upon the reso- 
lution, which he then formed, of sailing in an English 
ship on that sea. 

Then continuing their march, they came, after two 
days, into an open, level coiuitry, where their passage 



SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 71 

was somewhat incommoded with the grass, which is of a 
peculiar kind, consisting of a stalk like that of wheat, and 
a blade, on which the oxen and other cattle feed, till it 
grows too high for them to reach; then the inhabitants set 
it on fire, and in three days it springs up again; this they 
are obliged to do thrice a year, so great is the fertility 
of the soil. 

At length, being within view of Panama, they left all 
frequented roads, for fear of being discovered, and post- 
ed themselves in a grove near the way between Panama 
and Nombre de Dios: then they sent a Symeron in the 
habit of a negro of Panama, to enquire on what night the 
recoes, or drivers of mules, by which the treasure is car- 
ried, were to set forth. The messenger was so well qualifi- 
ed for his undertaking, and so industrious in the prosecu- 
tion of it, that he soon returned with an account that the 
treasurer of Lima, intending to return to Europe, would 
pass that night, with eight mules laden with gold, and one 
with jewels. 

Having received this information, they immediately 
marched towards Venta Cruz, the first town on the way 
to Nombre de Dios, sending, for security, two bymerons 
before, who, as they went, perceived by the scent of a 
match that some Spaniard was before them, and going 
silently forwards, surprized a soldier asleep wpon the 
ground. They immediately bound him, and brought him 
to Drake, who, upon enquiry, found that their spy had 
not deceived them in his intelHgence. The soldier hav- 
ing informed himself of the captain's name, conceived 
such a confidence in his well known clemency, that, 
after having made an ample discovery of the treasure 
that was now at hand, he petitioned not only that he 
would command the Symerons to spare his life, but 
that, when the treasure should fall into his hands, he 
would allow him as much as might maintain him and 



72 SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 

his mistress, since they were about to gain more than 
their whole company could carry. 

Drake then ordered his men to lie down in tlie long 
grass, about fifty paces from the road, half on one side, 
with himself, and half on the other, with Oxenham, and 
the captain of the Symerons, so much behind, that one 
company might seize the foremost recoe, and the other 
the hindermost; for the mules of these recoes, or drivers, 
being tied together, travel on a line, and are all guided 
by leading the first. 

When they had lain about an hour in this place, they 
began to hear the bells of the niules on each hand; upon 
which orders were given, that the drove which came 
from Venta Cruz should pass unmolested, because they 
carried nothing of great value, and those only be inter- 
cepted which were travelling thither, and that none of 
the men should rise up till the signal should be given. 
But one Robert Pike, heated with strong liquor, left his 
company, and prevailed upon one of the Symerons to 
creep with him to the way side, that they might signa- 
lize themselves by seizing the first mule, and liearing 
the trampling of a horse, as he lay, could not be restrain- 
ed by the Symeron from rising up to observe who was 
passing by. This he did so imprudently, that he was dis- 
covered by the passenger, for by Drake's order the 
English had put their shirts on over their coats, that the 
night and tumult might not hinder them from knowing 
one another. 

The gentleman was immediately observed by Drake 
to change his trot into a gallop; buts the reason of it not 
appearing, it was imputed to his fear of the robbers that 
usually infest that road, and the English siill continued 
to expect the treasure. 

In a short time one of the recoes, that were passing 
towards Venta Cruz, came up, and was eagerly seized 
by the English, who expected nothing less than half the 



SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 7S 

revenue of the Indies; nor is it easy to imagine their 
mortification and perplexity when they found only two 
mules laden with silver, the rest having no other burthen 
than provisions. 

The driver was brought immediately to the captain, 
and informed him that the horseman, whom he had ob- 
served pass by with so much precipitation, had informed 
the treasurer of what he had observed, and advised him 
to send back the mules that carried his i^old and jewels, 
and suffer only the rest to proceed, that he might by that 
cheap experiment discover whether there was any am- 
bush on the way. 

That Drake was not less disgusted than his followers 
at the disappointment, cannot be doubted; but there was 
now no time to be spent in complaints. The whole coun- 
try was alarmed, and all the force of the Spaniards was 
summoned to overwhelm him. He had no fortress to 
retire to, every man was his enemy, and every retreat 
better known to the Spaniards than to himself. 

This was ai^ occasion that demanded all the qualities 
of an hero, an intrepidity never to be perplexed. He im- 
mediately considered all the circumstances of his pre- 
sent situation, and found that it afforded him only the 
choice of marching back by the same way through 
which he came, or of forting his passage to Venta Cruz. 

To march back, was to confess the superiority of his 
enemies, and to animate them to the pursuit; the woods 
would afford opportunities of ambush, and his followers 
must often disperse themselves in search of provisions, 
who would become an easy prey, dispirited by their dis- 
appointment, and fatigued by their march. On the way 
to Venta Cruz he should have nothing to fear but from 
open attacks, and expected enemies. 

Determining therefore to pass forward to Venta Cruz, 
he asked Pedro, the leader of the Symerons, whether he 
was resolved to follow him; and having received from 

Vol. XII. D 



74 SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 

him the strongest assurances that nothing should sepa- 
rate them, commanded his men to refresh themselves 
and prepare to set forward. 

When they came within a mile of the town, they dis- 
missed the mules which they had made use offer their 
more easy and speedy passage, and continued their 
march along a road cut through thick woods, in which a 
company of soldiers, who were quartered in the place to 
defend it against the Symerons, had posted themselves, 
together with a convent of friars headed by one of their 
brethren, whose zeal against the northern heresy had 
incited him to hazard his person, and assume the pro- 
vince of a general. 

Drake, who was advertised by two Symerons, whom 
he sent before, of the approach of the Spaniards, com- 
manded his followers to receive the first volley without 
firing. 

In a short time he heard himself summoned by the 
Spanish captain to yield, with a promise of protection 
and kind treatment; to which he answered with defiance, 
contempt, and the discharge of his pistol. 

Immediately the Spaniards poured in their shot, by 
which only one man was killed, and Drake, with some 
others, slightly, wounded; upon which the signal was 
given by Drake's whistle to fall upon them. The Eng- 
lish, after discharging their arrows and shot, pressed 
furiously forward, and drove the Spaniards before them, 
which the Symerons, whom the terror of the shot had 
driven to some distance, observed, and recalling their 
.courage, animated each other with songs in their own 
language, and rushed forward with such impetuosity, 
that they overtook them near the town, and supported 
by the English, dispersed them with the loss of only one 
man, who, after he had received his wound, had strength 
and resolution left to kill his assailant. 

They pursued the enemy into the town, in which they 



SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 75 

met with some plunder, which was given to the Syme- 
i'ons, and treated the inhabitants with great clemency, 
Drake himself going to the Spanish ladies to assure them 
that no injuries should be offered them; so inseparable 
is humanity from true courage. 

Having thus broken the spirits, and scattered the 
forces of the Spaniards, he pursued his march to his ship, 
without any apprehension of danger, yet with great 
speed, being very solicitous about the state of the crew; 
so that he allowed his men, harassed as they were, but 
little time for sleep or refreshment, but by kind exhorta- 
tions, gentle authority, and a cheerful participation of 
all their hardships, prevailed upon them to bear, without 
murmurs, not only the toil of travelling, but on some 
days the pain of hunger. 

In this march he owed much of his expedition to the 
assistance of the Symerons, who being accustomed to the 
climate, and naturally robust, not only brought him in- 
telligence, and shewed the way, but carried necessaries, 
provided victuals, and built lodgings, and, when any of the 
English fainted in the way, two of them would carry him 
between them for two miles together; nor was their 
valour less than their industry, after they had learned 
from their English companions, to despise the fire-arms 
of the Spaniards. 

When they were within five leagues of the ships, 
they found a town built in their absence by the Syme- 
rons, at which Drake consented to halt, sending a Syme- 
ron to the ship with his gold tooth-pick as a token, which 
though the master knew it, was not sufficient to gain the 
messenger credit, till upon examination he found that 
the captain, having ordered him to regard no messenger 
without his 'handwriting, had engraven his name upon 
it with the point of his knife. He then sent the pinnace 
up the river, which they met, and afterwards sent to the 
town for those whose weariness had made them unable 



76 SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 

to march further. On February 23, the whole company 
was reunited; and Drake, whose good or ill success 
jiever prevailed over his piety, celebrated their meeting 
with thanks to God. 

Drake, not yet discouraged, now turned his thoughts 
to new prospects, and without languishing in melancholy 
reflections upon his past miscarriages, employed himself 
in forming schemes for repairing them. Eager of action, 
and acquainted with man's nature, he never suffered 
idleness to infect his followers with cowardice, but kept 
them from sinking under any disappointment by divert- 
ing their attention to some new enterprize. 

Upon consultation with his own men and the Syme- 
rons, he found them divided in their opinions: some 
declaring, that, before they engaged in any new attempt, 
it\vas necessary to increase their stores of provisions; 
and others urging, that the ships in which the treasure 
was conveyed, should be immediately attacked. The 
Symerons proposed a third plan, and advised him to un- 
dertake another march over land to the house of one 
Pezoro near Veragua, whose slaves brought him every 
day more than two hundred pounds sterling from the 
mines, which he heaped together in a strong stone house, 
which might by the help of the English be easily 
forced. 

Drake, being unwilling to fatigue his followers with 
another journey, determined to comply with both the 
other opinions; and manning his trwo pinnaces, the Bear 
and the Minion, he sent John Oxenham in the Bear 
towards Tolon, to seize upon provisions; and went him- 
self in the Minion to the Cabezas, to intercept the trea- 
sure that was to be transported from Veragua and that 
coast to the fleet at Nombre de Dios, first dismissing 
with presents those Symerons that desired to return to 
their wives, and ordering those that chose to remain to be 
entertained in the ship. 



SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 77 

Drake took at the Cabezas a frigate of Nicaragua, the 
pilot of which informed that there was in the harbour of 
Veragua, a ship freighted wiih more than a million of 
gold, to which he offered to conduct him (being well 
acquainted with the soundings) if he might be allowed 
his share of the prize; so much was his avarice superior 
to his honesty. 

Drake, ifter some deliberation, complying with the 
pilot's importunities, sailed towards the harbour, but had 
no sooner entered the mouih of it than he heard the 
report of artillery, which was answered by others at a 
greater distance: upon which the pilot told him that they 
were discovered, this being the signal iippointed by the 
governor to alarm the coast. 

Drake now thought it convenient to return to the ship, 
that he might enquire the success of the other pinnace* 
-which he found, with a frigate that she had taken, with 
twenty-eight fat hogs, two hundred hens, and great store 
of maize, or Indian corn. The vessel itself was so strong 
and well built, that he fitted it out for war, determining to 
attack the fleet at Nombre de Dios. 

On March the 21st he set sail with the new frigate 
and the Bear towards the Cabezas, at which he arrived 
in about two days, and found there Tetu, a Frenchman, 
with a ship of war, who, after having received from him 
a supply of water and other necessaries, intreated that 
he might join with him in his attempt; which Drake 
consenting to, admitted him to accompany him with 
twenty of his men, stipulating to allow them an equal 
share of whatever booty they should gain. Yet were they 
not without some suspicions of danger from this new 
ally, he having eighty men, and they being now reduced 
to thirty-one. 

Then manning the frigate and two pinnaces, they 
set sail from the Cabezas, where they left the frigate, 
which was too large for the shallows over which they 
were to pass, and proceeded to Rio Francisco. Here 



78 SIK FRANCIS DKAKE. 

they landed, and having ordered the pinnacesjo reliirn 
to the same place on the 4th day foUo-vvin^, travelled 
through the woods towards Nombre de Dios with such 
silence and regularity as surprised the French, who did 
not imagine the Symerons so discreet or obedient as they 
appeared, and were therefore in perpetual anxiety about 
the fidelity of their guides, and the probability of their 
return. Nor did the Symerons treat them with that sub- 
mission and regard which they paid to the English, 
whose bravery and conduct they had already tried. 
At length, after a laborious march of more than seven 

leagues, they began to hear the hut-nniero of the cinpirn- 

ters in the bay, it being the custom in that hot season to 
work in the night; and in a short time they perceived t!ie 
approach of the recoes, or droves of mules, from Panama. 
They now no longer doubted that their labours would be 
rewarded, and every man imagined himself secure from 
poverty and labour for the remaining part of his life. 
They therefore, when the mules came up, rushed out 
and seized them, with an alacrity proportioned to their 
expectations. The three droves consisted of one hundred 
and nine mules, each of which carried three hundred 
pounds weight of silver. It was to little purpose that the 
soldiers ordered to guard the treasure attempted resist- 
ance. After a short combat, in which the French captain, 
and one of the Symerons were wounded, it appeared 
with how much greater ardour men are animated by in- 
terest than fidelity. 

As it was possible for them to carry away but a small 
part of this treasure, after having wearied themselves 
with hiding it in holes and shallow waters, they deter- 
mined to return by the same way, and, without being- 
pursued, entered the woods, where the French captain, 
being disabled by his wound, was obliged to stay, two of 
his company continuing with him. 

When they had gone forward about two leagues, the 



<m 



SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 79 

Frenchmen missed another of their company, who upon 
enquiry was known to be intoxicated with wine, and sup- 
posed to have lost himself in the woods, by neglecting 
to observe the guides. 

But common prudence not allowing them to hazard 
the whole company by too much solicitude for a single 
life, they travelled on towards Rio Francisco, at which 
they arrived April the 3d; but, looking out for their 
pinnaces, were surprised with the sight of seven Span- 
ish shallops, and immediately concluded that some intel- 
ligence of their motions had been carried to Nombre de 
Dios, and that these vessels had been fitted out to pursue 
them, which might undoubtedly have overpowered the 
pinnaces and their feeble crew. Nor did their suspicion 
»top here; but immediately it occurred to them, that their 
men had been compelled by torture to discover where 
their frigate and ship were stationed, which being weakly 
manned, and without the presence of the chief com- 
mander, would fall into their hands almost without resis- 
tance, and all possibility of escaping be entirely cut off. 

These reflections sunk the whole company into des- 
pair; and every one, instead of endeavouring to break 
through the difficulties that surrounded him, resigned 
up himself to his ill fortune: when Drake, whose intre- 
pidity was never to be shaken, and whose reason was 
never to be surprised or embarrassed, represented to 
them that, though the Spaniards should have made them- 
selves masters of their pinnaces, they might yet be hin- 
dered frora discovering the ships. He put them in mind 
that the pinnaces could not be taken, the men examined, 
their examinations compared, the resolutions formed, 
their vessels sent out, and the ships taken, in an instant. 
Some time must necessarily be spent before the last 
blow could be struck; and, if that time were not negli- 
gently lost, it might be possible for some of them to 



«0 SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 

reach the ships before the enemy, and direct them to^ 
change their station. 

They were animated with this discourse, by which 
they discovered that their leader was not without hope; 
but when they came to look more nearly into their situ- 
ation, they were unable to conceive upon what it was 
founded. To pass by land was impossible, as the way lay 
over high mountains, through thick woods and deep 
rivers, and they had not a single boat in their power, so 
that a passage by water seemed equally impracticable. 
But Drake, whose penetration immediately discovered 
all the circumstances and inconveniences of every 
scheme, soon determined upon ihe only jueuns of suc- 
cess which their condition afforded them: and ordered 
his men to make a raft out of the trees that were then float- 
ing on the river, offered himself to put off to sea upon it, 
and cheerfully asked who would accompany him. John 
Owen, John Smith, and two Frenchmen, who were wil- 
ling to share his fortune, embarked with him on the raft, 
which was fitted out with a sail made of a biscuit-sack> 
and an oar to direct its course instead of a rudder. 

Then having comforted the rest with assurances of his 
regard for them, and resolution to leave nothing unat- 
tempted for their deliverance, he put off, and after hav- 
ing, with much difficulty, sailed three leagues, descried 
two pinnaces hastening towards him, which upon a nearer 
approach, he discovered to be his own, and perceiving 
that they anchored behind a point that jutted out into the 
sea, he put to shore, and, crossing the land on foot, was 
received by his company with that satisfaction which is 
only known to those that have been acquainted with dan- 
gers and distresses. 

The same night they rowed to Rio Francisco, where 
they took in the rest, with what treasure they had been 
able to carry with them through the woods; then sailing 
back with the utmost expedition, they returned to their 



SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 81 

frigate, and soon after to their ship, where Drake divided 
the gold and silver equally between the French and the 
English. 

Here they spent about fourteen days in fitting out their 
frigate more completely, and then dismissing the Spani- 
ards with their ship, lay a few days among the Cabezas; 
while twelve English and sixteen Symerons travelled 
once more into the country, as well to recover the French 
captain, whom they had left wounded, as to bring away 
''the treasure which they had in the sands. Drake, whom 
his company would not suffer to hazard his person in 
another land expedition, went with them to Rio Francisco, 
where he found one of the Frenchmen who had staid t©^ 
attend their captain, and was informed by him, upon his 
enquiries after his fortune, that half an hour after their 
separation, the Spaniards came upon them, and easily 
seized upon the wounded captain; but that his companion 
might have escaped with him, had he not preferred 
money to life; for seeing him throw down a box of jewels 
that retarded him, he could not forbear taking it up, and 
with that, and the gold which he had already, was so 
loaded that he could not escape. With regard to the bars 
of gold and silver, which they had concealed in the 
ground, he informed them that two thousand men had 
been employed in digging for them. 

The men, however, either mistrusting the informer's 
veracity, or confident that what they had hidden could 
not be found, pursued their journey; but upon their ar- 
rival at the place, found the ground turned up for two 
miles round, and were able to recover no more than 
thirteen bars of silver, and a small quantity of gold. 
They discovered afterwards that the Frenchman who 
was left in the woods, falling afterwards into the hands 
of the Spaniards, was tortured by them till he confessed 
where Drake had concealed his plunder. So fatal to 

Drake's expedition was the drunkenness of his followers. 

D 2 



82 SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 

Then dismissing the French, they passed by Cartha- 
gena with their colours flying, and soon after took a 
frigate laden with provisions and honey, which they 
valued as a great restorative, and then sailed away to 
the Cabezas. 

Here they staid about a week to clean their vessels, 
and fit them for a long voyage, determining to set sail 
for England; and, that the faithful Symerons might not 
go away unrewarded, broke up their pinnaces, and gave 
them the iron, the most valuable present in the world 
to a nation whose only employments were war and hunt- 
ing, and amongst whom show and luxury had no place. 

Pedro, their captain, being desired by Drake to go 
through the ship, and to choose what he most desired, 
fixed his eye upon a scymitar set with diamonds, which 
the French captain had presented to Drake; and being 
"Unwilling to ask for so valuable a present, offered for it 
four large quoits, or thick plates of gold, which he had 
hitherto concealed; but Drake, desirous to shew him 
that fidelity is seldom without a recompense, gave it 
him with the highest professions of satisfaction and 
esteem. Pedro, receiving it with the utmost gratitude, 
informed him, that by bestowing it he had conferred 
greatness and honour upon him; for by presenting it to 
his king, he doubted not of obtaining the highest rank 
amongst the Symerons. He then persisted in his resolu- 
tion of leaving the gold, which was generously thrown 
by Drake into the common stock; for he said, that those 
at whose expences he had been sent out, ought to share 
in all the gain of the expedition, whatever pretence cavil 
and chicanery might supply for the appropriation of any 
part of it. Thus was Drake's character consistent with 
itself; he was equally superior to avarice and fear, and 
through whatever danger he might go in quest of gold, 
he thought it not valuable enough to be obtained by ar- 
'tific^ or dishonesty. 



SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 83 

They now forsook the coast of America, which for 
many months they had kept in perpetual alarms, having 
taken more than two hundred ships of all sizes between 
Carthagena and Nombre de Dios, of which they never 
destroyed any, unless they were fitted out against them, 
nor ever detained the prisoners longer than was neces- 
sary for their own security or concealment, providing 
for them in the same manner as for themselves, and 
protecting them from the malice of the Symerons; a be- 
haviour which humanity dictates, and which, perhaps, 
even policy cannot disapprove. He must certainly meet 
with obstinate opposition who makes it equally danger- 
ous to yield as to resist, and who leaves his enemies no 
hopes but from victory. 

What riches they acquired is not particularly related^ 
but it is not to be doubted, that the plunder of so many 
vessels, together with the silver which they seized at 
Nombre de Dios, must amount to a very large sum, 
though the part that was allotted to Drake was not suffi- 
cient to lull him in effeminacy, or to repress his natural 
inclination to adventures. 

They arrived at Plymouth on the 9th of August, 1573, 
on Sunday in the afternoon; and so much were the peo- 
ple delighted with the news of their arrival, that they 
left the preacher, and ran in crowds to the quay with 
shouts and congratulations. 

Drake having, in his former expedition, had a view of 
the South Sea, and formed a resolution to sail upon it, 
did not suffer himself to be diverted from his design by 
the prospect of any difficulties that might obstruct the 
attempt, nor any dangers that might attend the execu- 
tion; obstacles which brave men often find it much 
more easy to overcome, than secret envy and domestick 
treacherv. 

Drake's reputation was now sufficiently advanced to 
incite detraction and opposition; and it is easy to ima*- 



84 SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 

gine that a man by nature superior to mean artifices, 
and bred from his earliest years, to the labour and hard- 
ships of a sea life, was very little acquainted with policy 
and intrigue, very little versed in the methods of appli- 
cation to the powerful and great, and unable to obviate 
the practices of those whom his merit had made his 
enemies. 

Nor are such the only opponents of great enterprizes: 
there are some men of narrow views and grovelling con- 
ceptions, who, without the instigation of personal ma- 
lice, treat every new attempt as wild and chimerical, 
and look upon every endeavour to depart from the bea- 
ten track as the rash effort of a warm imagination, or 
the glittering speculation of an exalted mind, that may 
please and dazzle for a time, but can produce no real or 
lasting advantage. 

These men value themselves upon a perpetual scep- 
ticism, upon believing nothing but their own senses, upon 
calling for demonstration where it cannot possibly be 
obtained, and sometimes upon holding out against it 
when it is laid before them; upon inventing arguments 
against the success of any new undertaking, and, where 
arguments cannot be found, upon treating it with con- 
tempt and ridicule. 

Such have been the most formidable enemies of the 
great benefactors to mankind;. and to these we can hardly 
doubt but that much of the opposition which Drake met 
with is to be attributed; for their notions and discourse 
are so agreeable to the lazy, the envious, and the timo- 
rous, that they seldom fail of becoming popular, and di- 
recting the opinions of mankind. 

Whatsoever were his obstacles, and whatsoever the 
motives that produced them, it was not till the year 1577, 
that he was able to assemble a force proportioned to his 
design, and to obtain a commission from the Queen, by 
which he was constituted captain-general of a fleet con- 



SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 85 

sisting of five vessels, of which the Pelican, admiral, of 
an hundred tons, was commanded by himself; the Eliza- 
beth, vice-admiral, of eighty tons, by John Winter; the 
Marigold, of thirty tons, by John Thomas; the Swan, 
fifty tons, by John Chester; the Christopher, of fifteen 
tons, Thomas Moche, the same, as it seems, who was car- 
penter in the former voyage, and destroyed one of the 
ships by Drake's direction. 

These ships, equipped partly by himself, and partly by 
other private adventurers, he manned with 164 stout sai- 
lors, and furnished with such provisions as he judged ne- 
cessary for the long voyage in which he was engaged. 
Nor did he confine his concern to naval stores, or military 
preparations; but carried with him whatever he thought 
might contribute to raise in those nations with which he 
should have any intercourse, the highest ideas of the po- 
liteness and magnificence of his native country. He there- 
fore not only procured a complete service of silver for his 
own table, and furnished the cook-room with many ves- 
sels of the same metal, but engaged several musicians to 
accompany him; rightly judging that nothing would more 
excite the admiration of any savage and uncivilized peo- 
ple. 

Having been driven back by a tempest in their first 
attempt, and obliged to return to Plymouth to repair 
the damages which they had suffered, they set sail again 
from thence on the 13th of December, 1577, and on the 
25th had sight of Cape Cantire in Barbary, from whence 
they coasted on southward to the island of Mogadore, 
\vhich Drake had appointed for the first place of rendez- 
vous, and on the 27th brought the whole fleet to anchor 
in a harbour on the main land. 

They were soon after their arrival discovered by the 
Moors that inhabited those coasts, who sent two of the 
principal men amongst them on board Drake's ship, re- 
ceiving at the same time two of his company as hostages. 



«6 SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 

These men he not only treated in the most splendid 
manner, but presented with such things as they ap- 
peared most to admire; it being with him an established 
maxim, to endeavour to secure in every country a kind 
reception to such Englishmen as might come after him, 
by treating the inhabitants with kindness and generosity; 
a conduct at once just and politick; to the neglect o( 
which may be attributed many of the injuries suffered by 
our sailors in distant countries, which are generally as- 
cribed rather to the effects of wickedness and folly of 
our commanders, than the barbarity of the natives, 
who seldom fall upon any unless they have been first 
plundered or insulted; and, in revenging the ravages of 
one crew upon another of the same nation, are guilty of 
nothing but what is countenanced by the example of the 
Europeans themselves. 

But this friendly intercourse was in appearance soon 
broken; for, on the next day observing the Moors making 
signals from the land, they sent out their boat, as before, 
to fetch them to the ship, and one John Fry leaped 
ashore, intending to become a hostage as on the former 
day, when immediately he was seized by the Moors; and 
the crew, observing great numbers to start up from be- 
hind the rock with weapons in their hands, found it mad- 
ness to attempt his rescue, and therefore provided for 
their own security by returning to the ship. 

Fry was immediately carried to the king, who, being 
then in continual expectation of an invasion from Portu- 
gal, suspected that these ships were sent only to observe 
the coast, and discover a proper harbour for the main 
fleet; but being informed who they were, and whither 
they were bound, not only dismissed his captive, but 
made large offers of friendship and assistance, which 
Drake, however, did not stay to receive, but being dis- 
gusted at this breach of the laws of commerce, and 
afraid of further violence, after having spent some days in 



SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 87 

searching for his man, in which he met with no resist- 
ance, left the coast on December 31, some time before 
Fry's return, who, being obliged by this accideni to some- 
what a longer residence among the Moors, was after- 
wards sent home in a merchant's ship. 

On January 16, they arrived at Cape Blanc, having in 
their passage taken several Spanish vessels. Here while 
Drake was employing his men in catching fish, of which 
this coast affords great plenty and various kinds, the in- 
habitants came down to the sea-side with their alisorges, 
or leather bottles, to traffick for water, which they were 
willing to purchase with ambergris and ot^«r gums. 
But Drake, compassionating the misery of their condi- 
tion, gave them water whenever they asked for it, and 
left them their commodities to traffick with, when they 
should be again reduced to the same distress without 
finding the same generosity to relieve them. 

Here having discharged some Spanish ships which 
they had taken, they set sail towards the isles of 
Cape Verd, and on January 28 came to anchor before 
Mayo, hoping to furnish themselves with fresh water; 
but having landed, they found the town by the water's 
side entirely deserted, and, marching further up the 
country, saw the valleys extremely fruitful, and abound- 
ing with ripe figs, cocoas, and plantains, but could by no 
means prevail upon the inhabitants to converse or traf- 
fick with them: however, they were suffered by them 
to range the country without molestation, but found no 
water, except at such a distance from the sea that the la- 
bour of conveying it to the ships was greater than it was 
at that time necessary for them to undergo. Salt, had 
they wanted it, might have been obtained with less trou- 
ble, being left by the sea upon the sand, and hardened by 
the sun during the ebb, in such quantities, that the chief 
traffick of their island is carried on with it. 

January SI, they passed by St. Jago, an island at that 



88 SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 

time divided between the natives and the Portuguese^ 
whoj first entering these islands under the shew^ of traf- 
fick, by degrees established themselves, claimed a supe- 
riority over the original inhabitants, and harassed them 
with such cruelty, that they obliged them either to fly to 
the woods and mountains, and perish with hunger, or to 
take up arms against their oppressors, and, under the in- 
superable disadvantages with which they contended, to 
die almost without a battle in defence of their natural 
rights and ancient possessions. 

Such treatment had the natives of St. Jago received, 
which ha5\jdriven them into the rocky parts of the island, 
from whence they made incursions into the plantations 
of the I'ortuguese, sometimes with loss, but generally 
with that success which desperation naturally procures; 
so that the Portuguese were in continual alarms, and 
lived with the natural consequences of guilt, terror and 
anxiety. They were wealthy, but not happy; and posses- 
sed the island, but not enjoyed it. 

They then sailed on within sight of Fogo, an island so 
called from a mountain, about the middle of it, continu- 
ally burning, and, like the rest, inhabited by the Portu- 
guese; two leagues to the south of which lies Brava, 
which has received its name from its fertility, abounding, 
though uninhabited, with all kinds of fruits, and watered 
with great numbers of springs and brooks, which would 
easily invite the possessors of the adjacent islands to set- 
tle in it, but that it affords neither harbour nor anchorage. 
Drake, after having sent out his boats with plummets, was 
not able to find any ground about it; and it is reported 
that many experiments have been made with the same 
success; however, he took in water sufficient, and on the 
2d of February set sail for the Straits of Magellan. 

On February 17 they passed the equator, and conti- 
nued their voyage, with sometimes calms, and some- 
times contrary winds, but without any memorable acci- 



SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 89 

dent, to March 28, when one of their vessels, with twen- 
ty-eight men, and the greatest part of their fresh water 
on board, was, to their great discouragement, separated 
from them; but their perplexity lasted not long, for on 
the next day they discovered and rejoined their associ- 
ates. 

In their long course, which gave them opportunities 
of observing several animals, both in the air and water, 
at that time very little known, nothing entertained or 
surprised them more than the Flying Fish, which is 
near of the same size with a herring, and has fins of the 
length of his whole body, by the help of which, when he 
is pursued by the Uonitu or grcitt ixiackerel, as SOOn as 
he finds himself upon the point of being taken, he springs 
up into the air, and flies forward as long as his wings 
continue wet, moisture being, as it seems, necessary to 
make them pliant and moveable; and when they become 
dry and stiff, he falls down into the water, unless some 
bark or ship intercept him, and dips them again for a 
second flight. This unhappy animal is not only pursued by 
fishes in his natural element, but attacked in the air, 
where he hopes for security, by the don, or sparkite, a 
great bird that preys upon fish; and their species must 
surely be destroyed, were not their increase so great, 
that the young fry, in one part of the year, covers the sea. 

There is another fish, named the cuttil, of which 
whole shoals will sometimes rise at once out of the 
water, and of which a great multitude fell into their 
ship. 

At length having sailed without sight of land for sixty- 
days, they arrived, April 5th, at the coast of Brasil, where, 
on the 7th, the Christopher was separated again from 
them by a storm; after which they sailed near the land 
to the southward, and on the 14th anchored under a 
cape, which they afterwards called Cape Joy, because in 
two days the vessel which they had lost returned to them. 



DO SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 

Having spent a fortnight in the river of Plata, to re- 
fresh his men after their long voyage, and then standing 
out to sea, he was again surprised by a sudden storm, in 
which they lost sight of the Swan. This accident deter- 
mined Drake to contract the number of his fleet, that he 
might not only avoid the inconvenience of such frequent 
separations, but ease the labour of his men, by having 
more hands in each vessel. 

For this purpose he sailed along the coast in quest of 
a commodious harbour, and on May 1 3, discovered a bay, 
which seemed not improper for their purpose, but which 
they durst not enter till it was examined; an employ- 
ment in which Drake never trusted any, whatever 
might be his confidence in his followers on other oc- 
casions. He well knew how fatal one moment's inat- 
tention might be, and how easily almost every man 
suffers himself to be surprised by indolence and se- 
curity. He knew the same credulity that might pre- 
vail upon him to trust another, might induce another 
to commit the same office to a third; and it must be 
at length, that some of them would be deceived. He 
therefore, as at other times, ordered the boat to be hoist- 
ed out, and taking the line into his hand, went on sound- 
ing the passage till he was three leagues from his ship; 
when on a sudden, the weather changed, the skies black- 
ened, the winds whistled, and all the usual forerunners 
of a storm began to threaten them: nothing was now 
desired but to return to the ship, but the thickness of 
the fog intercepting it from their sight, made the attempt 
little other than desperate. By so many unforeseen acci- 
dents is prudence itself liable to be embarrassed! So dif- 
ficult is it sometimes for the quickest sagacity, and most 
enlightened experience, to judge what measures ought 
to be taken! To trust another to sound an unknown coast, 
appeared to Drake folly and presumption! to be absent 



SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 91 

from his fleet, though but for an hour, proved nothing 
less than to hazard the success of all their labours, hard- 
ships, and dangers. 

In this perplexity, which Drake was not more sensible 
of than those whom he had left in the ships, nothing was 
to be omitted, however dangerous, that might contribute 
to extricate them from it, as they could venture nothing 
of equal value with the life of their general. Captain 
Thomas, therefore, having the lightest vessel, steered 
boldly into the bay, and taking the general aboard, drop- 
ped anchor, and lay out of danger, while the rest that 
were in the open sea suffered much from, the tempest, 
and the Mary, a Portuguese prize, was driven away before 
the wind; the others, as soon as the tempest was over, 
discovering by the fires which were made on shore 
where Drake was, repaired to him. 

Here going on shore they met with no inhabitants,- 
though there were several houses or huts standing, in 
which they found a good quantity of dried fowls, and 
among them a great number of ostriches, of which the 
thighs were as large as those of a sheep. These birds 
are too heavy and unwieldly to rise from the ground, but 
with the help of their wings run so swiftly, that the Eng- 
lish could never come near enough to shoot at them. 
The Indians, commonly, by holding a large plume of 
feathers before them, and walking gently forwards, drive 
the ostriches into some narrow neck, or point of land; 
then spreading a strong net from one side to the other, 
to hinder them from returning back to the open fields, 
set their dogs upon them, thus confined between the net 
and the water, and when they are thrown on their backsj^ 
rush in and take them. 

Not finding this harbour convenient, or well stored 
with wood and water, they left it on the 15th of May, 
and on the 18th entered another much safer, and more 
commodious, which they no sooner arrived at then Drake, 



92 SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 

whose restless application never remitted, sent Winter 
to the southward, in quest of those ships which were 
absent, and immediately after sailed himself to the north- 
ward, and happily meeting with the Swan, conducted it 
to the rest of the fleet; after which, in pursuance of his 
former resolution, he ordered it to he broken up, reserv- 
ing the iron-work for a future supply. The other vessel 
which they lost in the late storm could not be discovered. 

While they were thus employed upon an island about 
a mile from the main land, to which at low-water, there 
was a passage on foot, they were discovered by the na- 
tives, who appeared, upon a hill at a distance, dancing 
and holding up their hands, as beckoning the English to 
them; which Drake observing, sent out a boat, with 
knives, bells, and bugles, and such things as, by their 
usefulness or novelty he imagined would be agreeable. 
As soon as the English landed, they observed two men 
running towards them, as deputed by the company, who 
came within a little distance and then standing still could 
not be prevailed upon to come nearer. The English 
therefore tied their presents to a pole which they 
fixed in the ground, and then retiring, saw the Indians 
advance, who, taking what they found upon the pole, 
left in return such feathers as they wear upon their heads, 
with a small bone about six inches in length, carved 
round the top, and burnished. 

Drake, observing their inclination to friendship and 
traffick, advanced with some of his company towards the 
hill, upon sight of whom thelndians ranged themselves in 
a line from east to west, and one of them running from 
one end of the rank to the other, backwards and forwards, 
bowed himself towards the rising and setting of the sun, 
holding his hands over his head, and frequently stopping 
in the middle of the rank, leaping up towards the moon 
which then shone directly over their heads; thus calling 
the sun and moon, the deities they worship, to witness 



I 



SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 93 

the sincerity of their professions of peace and friendship. 
While this ceremony was performed, Drake and his 
company ascended the hill, to the apparent terror of the 
Indians, whose apprehensions when the English perceiv- 
ed, they peaceably retired; which gave the natives so 
much encouragement, that they came forward immedi- 
ately, and exchanged their arrows, feathers, and bones, 
for such trifles as were offered them. 

Thus they traded for some time; but by frequent in- 
tercourse finding that no violence was intended, they 
became tamiliar, and mingled with the English without 
the least distrust. 

They go quite naked, except a skin of some animal, 
which they throw over their shoulders when they lie in 
the open air. They knit up their hair, which is very long, 
with a roll of ostrich feathers, and usually carry their 
arrows wrapped up in it, that they may not encumber 
them, they being made with reeds, headed with flint, and 
therefore not heavy. Their bows are about an ell long. 

Their chief ornament is paint, which they use of several 
kinds, delineating generally upon their bodies the figures 
of the sun and moon, in honour of their deities. 

It is observable, that most nations, amongst whom 
the use of clothes is unknown, paint their bodies. Such 
was the practice of the first inhabitants of our own coun- 
try. From this custom did our earliest enemies, the Picts, 
owe their denomination. As it is not probable that ca- 
price or fancy should be uniform, there must be, doubt- 
less, some reason for a practice so general and pre- 
vailing in distant parts of the world, which have no com- 
munication with each other. The original end of painting 
their bodies was, probably, to exclude the cold; an end, 
which if we believe some relations is so effectually pro- 
duced by it, that the men thus painted never shiver at 
the most piercing blasts. But doubtless any people so 
hardened by continual severities would, even without 



94 SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 

paint, be less sensible of the cold than the civilized inha- 
bitants of the same climate. However, this practice may 
contribute, in some degree, to defend them from the in- 
juries of winter, and, in those climates where little eva- 
porates by the pores, may be used with no great incon- 
venience; but in hot countries, where perspiration in 
greater degree is necessary, the natives only use unction 
to preserve them from the other extreme of weather; so 
well do either reason or experience supply the place of 
science in savage countries. 

They had no canoes like the other Indians, nor any 
method of crossing the water, which was probably the 
reason why the birds in the adjacent islands were so 
tame, that they might be taken with the hand, having 
never been before frighted or molested. The great plenty 
of fowls and seals, which crowded the shallows in such 
numbers that they killed at their first arrival two hun- 
dred of them in an hour, contributed much to the re- 
freshment of the English, who named the place Seal 
Bay, from that animal. 

These seals seem to be the chief food of the natives, 
for the English often found raw pieces of their flesh half 
eaten, and left, as they supposed, after a fuH meal by the In- 
dians, whom they never knew to make use of fire, or any 
art, in dressing or preparing their victuals. 

Nor were their other customs less wild or uncouth 
than their way of feeding; one of them having received 
a cap off the General's head, and being extremely pleas- 
ed as well with the honour as the gift, to express his 
gratitude, and confirm the alliance ^ between them, re- 
tired to a little distance, and thrusting an arrow into his 
leg, let the blood run upon the ground, testifiying, as it 
is probable, that he valued Drake's friendship above 
life. 

Having staid fifteen days among these friendly savages, 
in 47 deg. 30 min, south lat, on June 3, they set sail to- 



I 



SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 95 

wards the South Sea, and six days afterwards stopped at 
another little bay to break up the Christopher. Then 
passinii^ on, they cast anchor in another bay, not more 
than 20 leagues distant from the Straits of Magellan. 

It was now time seriously to deliberate in what man- 
ner they should act with regard to the Portuguese prize, 
which, having been separated from them by the storm, 
had not rejoined them. To return in search of it was 
sufficiently mortifying; to proceed h ithout it, was not only 
to deprive themselves of a considerable part of their force 
but to expose their friends and companions, whom com- 
mon hardships and dangers had endeared to them, to 
certain death or captivity. This consideration prevailed; 
and therefore on the ISth, after prayers to God, with 
which Drake never forgot to begin an enterprize, he put 
to sea, and the next day, near Port Julian, discovered 
their associates, whose ship was now grown leaky, hav- 
ing suffered much, both in the first storm by which they 
were dispersed, and afterwards in fruitless attempts to 
regain the fleet. 

Drake, therefore, being desirous to relieve their 
fatigues, entered Port Julian, and as it was his custom 
always to attend in person when any important business 
was in hand, went ashore with some of the chief of his 
company, to seek for water, where he was immediately 
accosted by two natives, of whom Magellan left a very 
terrible account, having described them as a nation of 
giants and monsters; nor is his narrative entirely with- 
out foundation, for they are of the largest size, though 
not taller than some Englishmen; their strength is pro- 
portioned to their bulk, and their voice loud, boisterous^ 
and terrible. What were their manners before the arri- 
val of the Spaniards, it is not possible to discover; but 
the slaughter made of their countrymen, perhaps with- 
out provocation, by these cruel intruders, and the general 
massacre with which that part of the world had been de- 



$6 SIR FRANCIS DRAKE, 

populated, might have raised in them a suspicion of all 
strangers, and by consequence made them inhospitable, 
treacherous, and bloody. 

The two who associated themselves with the English 
appeared much pleased with their new guests, received 
willingly what was given them, and very exactly observ- 
ed every thing that passed, seeming more particularly- 
delighted with seeing Oliver, the master-gunner, shoot 
an English arrow. They shot themselves likewise in 
emulation, but their arrows always fell to the ground 
far short of his. 

Soon after this friendly contest came another, who 
observing the familiarity of his countrymen with the 
strangers, appeared much displeased, and as the En- 
glishmen perceived, endeavoured to dissuade them from 
such an intercourse. What effect his arguments had was 
soon after apparent, for another of Drake's companions, 
being desirous to show the third Indian a specimen of 
the English valour and dexterity, attempted likewise to 
shoot an arrow, but drawing it with his full force burst 
the bow-string; upon which the Indians, who were unac- 
quainted with their other weapons, imagined him dis- 
armed, followed the company, as they were walking 
negligently down towards their boat, and let fly their 
arrows, aiming particularly at Winter, who had the bow 
in his hand. He finding himself wounded in the shoulder, 
endeavoured to refit his bow, and turning about was 
pierced with a second arrow in the breast. Oliver the 
gunner, immediately presented his piece at the insidious 
assailants, which failing to take fire gave them time to 
level another flight of arrows, by which he was killed; 
nor, perhaps, had any of them escaped, surprised and 
perplexed as they were, had not Drake, with his usual 
presence of mind, animated their courage, and directed 
their motions, ordering them, by perpetually changing 
their places, to elude, as much as they could, the aim of 



SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 9?^ 

their enemies, and to defend their bodies with their 
targets; and instructing them, by his own example, t» 
pick up, and break the arrows as they fell; which they 
did with so much diligence, that the Indians were soon 
in danger of being disarmed. Then Drake himself taking 
the gun, which Oliver had so unsuccessfully attempted 
to make use of, discharged it at the Indian that first 
began the fray, and had killed the gunner, aiming it s© 
happily, that the hail shot, with which it was loaded, tore 
open his belly, and forced him to such terrible outcries, 
that the Indians, though their numbers increased, and 
many of their countrymen shewed themselves from 
different parts of the adjoining wood, were too much 
terrified to renew the assault, and suffered Drake, with- 
out molestation, to withdraw his wounded friend, who, 
being hurt in his lungs, languished two days, and then 
dying, was interred with his companion, with the usual 
ceremony of a military funeral. 

They staid here two months afterwards, without re- 
ceiving any other injuries from the natives, who finding 
the danger to which they exposed themselves by open 
hostilities, and not being able any more to surprise the 
vigilance of Drake, preferred their safety to revenge. 

But Drake had other enemies to conquer or escape 
far more formidable than these barbarians, and insidious 
practices to obviate, more artful and dangerous, than the 
ambushes of the Indians; for in this place was laid open 
a design formed by one of the gentlemen of the fleet not 
only to defeat the voyage, but to murder the general. 

This transaction is related in so obscure and confused 

a manner, that it is difficult to form any judgment upon 

it. The writer who gives the largest account of it has 

suppressed the name of the criminal, which we learn, 

from a more succinct narrative, published in a collection 

of travels near that time, to have been Thomas Doughtie. 

What were his inducements to attempt the destruction 
Vol.. XIT. E 



98 SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. . 

of his leader, and the ruin of the expedition, or what 
were his views if his design had succeeded, what mea- 
sures he had hitherto taken, wliom he liad endeavoured 
to corrupt, with what arts, or what success, we are no 
where told. 

The plot, as the narrative assures us, was laid before 
their departure from England, and discovered, in its 
whole extent, to Drake himself in his garden at Ply- 
mouth, who nevertheless not only entertained the person 
so accused as one of his company, but, this writer very 
particularly relates, treated him with remarkable kind- 
ness and regard, setting him always at his own table, and 
lodged him in the same cabin with himself. Nor did ever 
he discover the least suspicion of his intentions, till they 
arrived at this place, but appeared, by the authority with 
which he invested him, to consider him, as one to w^hom, 
in his absence, he could most securely intrust the direc- 
tion of his affairs. At length, in this remote corner of the 
world, he found out a design formed against his life, 
called together all his officers, laid before them the evi- 
dence on which he grounded the accusation, and sum- 
moned the criminal, who, full of all the horrors of guilt, 
and confounded at so clear a detection of his whole 
scheme, immediately confessed his crimes, and acknow- 
ledged himself unworthy of longer life; upon which the 
whole assembly, consisting of thirty persons, after having 
considered the affair with the attention which it required, 
and heard all that could be urged in extenuation of his 
offence, unanimously signed the sentence by which he 
was condemned to suffer death. Drake, however, un- 
willing, as it seemed, to proceed to extreme severities, 
offered him his choice, either of being executed on the 
island, or set ashore on the main land, or being sent to 
England to be tried before the council; of which after a 
day's consideration, he chose the first, alleging the im- 
probabilitv of persuading any to leave the expedition for 



SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 9i^ 

the sake of transporting a criminal to England, and the 
danger of his future state among savages and infidels. 
His choice, I believe* few will approve; to be set ashore 
on the main land, was indeed only to be executed in a 
different manner; for what mercy could be expected from 
the natives so incensed, but the most cruel and hngering 
death? But why he should not rather have requested to 
be sent to England it is not so easy to conceive. In so 
long a voyage he might have found a thousand opportu- 
nities of escaping, perhaps with the connivance of his 
keepers, whose resentment must probabiy in time have 
given way to compassion, or at least by their negligence, 
as it is easy to believe they would in times of ease and 
refreshment have remitted their vigilance: at least he 
would have gained longer life, and to make death 
desirable seems not one of the effects of guilt. However, 
he was, as it is related, obstinately deaf to all persuasions, 
and adhering to his first choice, after having received the 
communion, and dined cheerfully with the general, was 
executed in the afternoon with many proofs of remorse, 
but none of fear. 

How far it is probable that Drake, after having been 
acquainted with this man's designs, should admit him 
into his fleet, and afterwards caress, respect, and trust 
him; or that Doughtie, who is represented as a man of 
eminent abilities, should engage in so long and hazardous 
a voyage with no other view than that of defeating it, is 
left to the determination of the reader. What designs he 
could have formed with any hope of success, or to what 
actions worthy of death he could have proceeded with- 
out accomplices, for none are mentioned, is equally 
difficult to imagine. Nor, on the other hand, though the 
obscurity of the account, and the remote place chosen for 
the discovery of this wicked project, seem to give some 
reason for suspicion, does there appear any temptation, 
from either hope, fear, or interest, that might induce 



100 SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 

Drake, or any commander in his state, to put to death an 
innocent man upon false pretences. 

After the execution of this man, the whole company 
either convinced of the justice of the proceedinj^, or 
awed by the seventy, applied themselves without any 
murmurs, or appearances of discontent, to the prosecution 
of the voyage; and having broken up another vessel, and 
reduced the number of their ships to three, they left the 
port, and on August the 20th entered the Straits of Ma- 
gellan, in which they struggled with contrary winds, and 
the various dangers to yvhich the intricacy of that wind- 
ing passage exposed them, till night, and then entered 
a more open sea, in which they discovered an island with 
a burning mountuin. On the 24th they fell in with three 
more islands, to which Drake gave names, and landing 
to take possession of them in the name of his sovereign, 
found in the largest so prodigious a number of birds, 
that they killed three thousand of them in one day. This 
bird, of which they knew not the name, was somewhat 
less than a wild goose, without feathers, and covered with 
a kind of down, unable to fly or rise from the ground, but 
capable of running and swimming with amazing celerity; 
they feed on the sea, and come to land only to rest at 
night or lay their eggs, which they deposit in holes like 
those of coneys. 

From these islands to the South Sea, the Strait 
becomes very crooked and narrow, so that sometimes, 
by the interposition of headlands, the passage seems shut 
up, and the voyage entirely stopped. To double these 
capes is very difficult, on account of the frequent altera- 
tions to be made in the course. There are indeed, as 
Magellan observes, many harbours, but in most of them 
no bottom is to be found. 

The land on both sides rises into innumerable moun- 
tains: the tops of them are encircled with clouds and 
vapours, which being congealed fall down in snow, and 



SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 101 

increase their height by hardening into ice, -which is 
never dissolved; but the valleys are nevertheless green, 
fruitful, and pleasant. 

Here Drake finding the Strait in appearance shut up, 
went in his boat to make further discoveries, and having- 
found a passage towards the north, was returning to his 
ships; but curiosity soon prevailed upon him to stop, for 
the sake of observing a canoe or boat, with several na- 
tives of the country in it. He could not at a distance for- 
bear admiring the form of thislittle vessel, which seemed 
inclining to a semi-circle, the stern and prow standing 
up, and the body sinking inward; but much greater was 
his wonder, when upon a nearer inspection, he found it 
made only of the barks of trees sewed together with 
thongs of seal-skin, so artificially that scarcely any water 
entered the seams. The people were well shaped, and 
painted, like those which have been already described. 
On the land they had a hut built with poles and covered 
with skins, in which they had water-vessels and other 
utensils, made likewise of the barks of trees. 

Among these people they had an opportunity of re- 
marking, what is frequently observable in savage coun- 
tries, how natural sagacity, and unwearied industry, may 
supply the want of such manufactures, or natural pro- 
ductions, as appear to us absolutely necessary for the 
support of life. The inhabitants of these islands are 
wholly strangers to iron and its use, but instead of it 
make use of the shell of a muscle of prodigious size, 
found upon their coasts; this they grind upon a stone to 
an edge, which is so firm and solid, that neither wood 
nor stone is able to resist it. 

September 6, they entered the great South Sea, on 
which no English vessel had ever been navigated before, 
and proposed to have directed their course towards the 
line, that their men, who had suffered by the severity of 
the climate, might recover their strength i« a warmfi^r 



n/2 SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 

latitude. But their designs were scarce formed before 
they were frustrated; for on September 7, after an eclipse 
of the moon, a storm arose, so violent, that it left them 
little hopes of surviving it; nor was its fury so dreadful 
as its continuance, for it lasted with little intermission 
till October 28, fifty-two days, during which time they 
were tossed incessantly from one part of the ocean to 
another, without any power of spreading their sails, or 
lying upon their anchors, amidst shelving shores, scat- 
tered rocks, and unknown islands, the tempest continually 
"oaring, and the waves dashing over them. 

In this storm, on the 30th of September, the Mangold, 
commanded by Captain Thomas, was separated from 
them. On the 7th of October, having entered a harbour, 
where they hoped for some intermission of their fatigues, 
they were in a few hours forced out to sea by a violent 
gust, which broke the cable, at which time they lost sight 
of the Elizabeth, the vice-admiral, whose crew, as was 
afterwards discovered, wearied with labour, and discoura- 
ged by the prospect of future dangers, recovered the 
Straits on the next day, and, returning by the same pas- 
sage through which they came, sailed along the coast of 
Brasil, and on the 2d of June, in the year following, 
arrived at England. 

From this bay, they were driven southward to fifty- 
five degrees, where among some islands they staid two 
days, to the great refreshment of the crew; but being 
again forced into the main sea, they were tossed about 
with perpetual expectation of perishing, till soon after 
they again came to anchor near the same place, where 
they found the natives, whom the continuance of the 
storm had probably reduced to equal distress, rowing 
from one island to another, and providing the necessa- 
ries of life. 

It is perhaps, a just observation, that with regard to 
outward circumstances, happiness and misery are equally 



SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 103 

diffused through all states of human life. In civilized 
countries, where regular policies have secured the 
necessaries of life, ambition, avarice and luxury, find 
the mind at leisure for tlieir reception, and soon engage 
it in new pursuits; pursuits that are to be carried on by- 
incessant labour, and whether vain or successful, produce 
anxiety and contention. Among savage nations, imagi- 
nary wants find indeed no place; but their strength is 
exhausted by necessary toils, and their passions agitated 
not by contests about superiority, afftuence, or prece- 
dence, but by perpetual care for the present day, and by 
fear of-perishing for want of food. 

But for such reflections as these they had no time, foi-, 
leaving spent three days in supplying themselves with 
wood and water, they were by a new storm driven to the 
latitude of fifty -six degrees, where they beheld the ex- 
tremities of the American coast, and the confluence of 
the Atlantic and Southern Ocean. 

Here they arrived on the 28th of October, and at last 
were blessed with the sight of a calm sea, having for al- 
most two months endured such a storm as no traveller 
has given an account of, and such as in that part of the 
world, though accustomed to hurricanes, they were be- 
fore unacquainted with. 

On the 30th of October they steered away towards the 
place appointed for the rendezvous of the fleet, which was 
in thirty degrees; and on the next day discovered two is- 
lands so well stocked with fowls, that they victualled their 
ships with them, and then sailed forwards along the coast 
of Peru, till they came to thirty-seven degrees, where 
finding neither of their ships, nor any convenient port, 
they came to anchor, November the 25th, at Mucho, an 
island inhabited by such Indians as the cruelty of the Spa- 
nish conquerors had driven from the continent, to whom 
they applied for water and provisions, off*ering them in 
return such things as they imagined most likely to please 



i04 SIR IRAN CIS DRAKE. 

them. The Indians seemed willing to traffick, aad hav- 
ing presented them with fruits and two fat sheep, would 
have shewed them a place whither they should come for 
water. 

The next morning, according to agreement, the Eng- 
lish landed with their water-vessels, and sent two men 
forward towards the place appointed, who about the mid- 
dle of the way, were suddenly attacked by the Indians, 
and immediately slain. Nor were the rest of the company 
out of danger, for behind the rocks was lodged an am- 
bush of five hundred men, who, starting up from their 
retreat, discharged their arrows into the boat with such 
dexterity, that every one of the crew was wounded by 
them, the sea being then high, and hindering them from 
either retiring or making use of their weapons. Drake 
liimself received an arrow under his eye, which pierced 
him almost to the brain, and another in his head. The 
danger of these wounds was much increased by the ab- 
sence of their surgeon who was in the vice-admiral, so 
that they had none to assist them but a boy, whose age 
did not admit of much experience or skill; yet so much 
were they favoured by Providence, that they all reco- 
vered. 

No reason could be assigned for which the Indians 
should attack them with so furious a spirit of malignity, 
but that they mistook them for Spaniards, whose cruel- 
ties might very reasonably incite them to revenge, whom 
they had driven by incessant persecution from their 
country, wasting immense tracks of land by massacre 
and devastation. 

On the afternoon of the same day, they set sail, and 
on the 30th of November dropped anchor in Philips bay, 
where their boat having been sent out to discover the 
country, returned with an Indian in his canoe, whom they 
had intercepted. He was of a graceful stature, dressed 
in a white coat or gown, reaching almost to hi-s knees, 



SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 105 

very mild, humble, and docile, such as perhaps were all 
the Indians, till the Spaniards taught them revenge, 
treachery and cruelty. 

This Indian, having been kindly treated, was dismissed 
with presents, and informed as far as the English could 
make him understand, what they chiefly wanted, and 
what they were willing to give in return; Drake ordering 
his boat to attend him in his canoe, and to set him safe on 
the land. 

When he was ashore, he directed them to wait till his 
return, and meeting some of his countrymen, gave them 
such an account of his reception, that, within a few- 
hours, several of them repaired with him to the boat with 
fowls, eggs, and a hog, and with them one of their cap- 
tains, who willingly came into the boat, and desired to 
be conveyed by the English to the ship. 

By this man Drake was informed, that no supplies 
were to be expected here; but that southward, in a 
place to which he offered to be his pilot, there was great 
plenty. This proposal was accepted, and on the 5th of 
December, under the direction of the good-natured In- 
dian, they came to anchor in the harbour called, by the 
Spaniards, Valperizo, near the town of St. James of Chi- 
uli, where they met not only with sufficient stores of 
provision, and with store-houses full of the wines of 
Chili, but with a ship called the captain of Morial, rich- 
ly laden, having together with large quantities of the 
same wines, some of the fine gold of Baldivia, and a 
great cross of gold set with emeralds. 

Having spent three days in storing their ships with 
all kinds of provision in the utmost plenty, they depart- 
ed, and landed their Indian pilot where they first received 
P him, after having rewarded him much above his expec- 
tations or desires. 

They had now little other anxiety than for their 

f) lends who had been separated from them, and whom 

E2 



106 SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 

they now determined to seek; but considering that, by 
cntering every creek and harbour with their ship, they 
exposed themselves to unnecessary dangers, and that 
their boat would not contain such a number as might 
defend themselves against the Spaniards, they deter- 
mined to station their ship at some place, where they 
might commodiously build a pinnace, which, being of 
light burden, might easily sail where the ship was in 
danger of being stranded, and at the same time might 
carry a sufficient force to resist the enemy, and afford 
better accommodation than could be expected in the 
boat. 

To this end, on the 19th of December, they entered a 
bay near Cippo, a town inhabited by Spaniards, who, 
discovering them, immediately issued out, to the num- 
ber of an hundred horsemen, with about two hundred 
naked Indians running by their sides. The English ob- 
serving their approach, retired to their boat without any 
loss, except of one man, whom no persuasions or entrea- 
ties could move to retire with the rest, and who, there- 
fore, was shot by the Spaniards, who, exulting at the 
victory, commanded the Indians to draw the dead car- 
case from the rock on which he fell, and in the sight of 
the English beheaded it, then cut off the right hand, 
and tore out the heart, which they carried away, having 
first commanded the Indians to shoot their arrows all 
over the body. The arrows of the Indians were made 
of green wood for the immediate service of the day; the 
Spaniards, with the fear that always harasses oppressors, 
forbidding them to have any weapons, when they do not 
want their present assistance. 

Leaving this place, they soon found a harbour more 
secure and convenient, where they built their pinnace, 
in which Drake went to seek his companions, but, find- 
ing the wind contrary, he was obliged to return in two 
days. 



SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 107 

Leaving this place soon after, they sailed along the 
coast in search of fresh water, and landing at Turapaca, 
they found a Spaniard asleep, with silver bars lying by 
him to the value of three thousand ducats. Not all the 
insults which they had received from his countrymen 
could provoke them to offer any violence to his person, 
and therefore they carried away his treasure, without 
doing him any farther harm. 

I^anding in another place, they found a Spaniard dri- 
ving eight Peruvian sheep, which are the beasts of bur- 
then in that country, each laden with an hundred pounds 
weight of silver, which they seized likewise and drove 
to their boats. 

Farther along the coast lay some Indian towns from 
which the inhabitants repaired to the ship, on floats 
made of seal-skins, blown full of wind, two of which they 
fasten together, and sitting between them row with 
great swiftness and carry considerable burthens. They 
V. very readily traded for glass and such trifles, with which 
the old and the young seemed equally delighted. 

Arriving at Mormorenaon the 26th of January, Drake 
invited the Spaniards to traffick with him, which they 
agreed to, and supplied him with necessaries, selling to 
him, among other provisions, some of those sheep which 
^ have been mentioned, whose bulk is equal to that of a 
cow, and whose strength is such that one of them can 
carry three tall men upon his back; their necks are like 
a camel's and their heads like those of our sheep. They 
are the most useful animals of this country, not only af- 
fording excellent fleeces, and wholesome flesh, but serv- 
ing as carriages over rocks and mountains where no 
other beast can travel, for their foot is of a peculiar form, 
which enables them to tread firm in the most steep and 
slippery places. 

On all this coast, the whole soil is so impregnated 
with silver, that five ounces may be separated from an 
hundred pounds weight of common earth. 



l©8 SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 

Still coasting in hopes of meeting their friends, they 
anchored on the 7th of February before Aria, where they 
took two barks with about eight hundred pound weight 
of silver, and, pursuing their course, seized another ves- 
sel laden with linens. 

On the 15th of February, 1578, they arrived at Lima, 
and entered the harbour without resistance, though 
thirty ships were stationed there, of which seventeen 
were equipped for their voyage, and many of them are 
represented in the narrative as vessels of considerable 
force; so that their security seems to have consisted not 
in their strength, but in their reputation, which had so 
intimidated the Spaniards, that the sight of their own 
superiority could not rouse them to opposition. Instan- 
ces of such panick terrors are to be met with in other 
relations; but as they are, for the most part, quickly dis- 
sipated by reason and reflection, a wise commander will 
rarely found his hopes of success on them; and, perhaps, 
on this occasion, the Spaniards scarcely deserve a seve- 
rer censure for their cowardice, than Drake for his te- 
merity. 

In one of these ships they found fifteen hundred bars 
of silver; in another a chest of money; and very rich la- 
ding in many of the rest, of which the Spaniards tamely 
suffered them to carry the most valuable part away, and 
would have permitted them no less peaceably to burn 
their ships; but Drake never made war with a spirit of 
cruelty or revenge, or carried hostilities further than 
was necessary for his own advantage or defence. 

They setsail the next morningtowards Panama, in quest 
of the Caca Fuego, a very rich ship, which had sailed 
fourteen days before, bound thither from Lima, which 
they overtook on the first of March near Cape Francisco, 
and boarding it, found not only a quantity of jewels, and 
twelve chests of ryals of plate, but eighty pounds weight 
of gold, and twenty-six tons of uncoined silver, with 



SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 109 

pieces of wrought plate to a great value. In unlading 
this prize they spent six days, and then, dismissing the 
Spaniards, stood off to sea. ^ 

Being now sufficiently enriched, and having lost all 
hopes of finding their associates, and perhaps beginning 
to be infected with that desire of ease and pleasure which 
is the natural consequence of wealth obtained by dan- 
gers and fatigues, they began to consult about their re- 
turn home, and, in pursuance of Drake's advice, resolv' 
ed first to find out some convenient harbour, where they 
might supply themselves with wood and water, and then 
endeavour to discover a passage from the South-sea into 
the Atlantic ocean; a discovery which would not only 
enable them to return home with less danger, and in a 
shorter time, but would much facilitate the navigation 
in those parts of the world. 

For this purpose they had recourse to a port in th? 
island of Caines, where they met with fish, wood, and 
fresh water, and in their course took a ship laden with 
silk and linen, which was the last that they met with on 
the coasst of America. 

But being desirous of storing themselves for a long 
course, they touched, April the loth, at Guatulco, a 
Spanish island, where they supplied themselves with 
provisions, and seized a bushel of ryals of silver. 

From Guatulco, which lies in 15 deg. 40 min., they 
stood out to sea, and, without approaching any land, 
sailed forward, till on the night following, the 3d of 
June, being then in the latitude of 38 degrees, they 
were suddenly benummed with such cold blasts, that they 
were scarcely able to handle the ropes. This cold in- 
creased upon them as they proceeded, to such a degree, 
that the sailors were discouraged from mounting upon 
the deck; nor were the effects of the climate to be im- 
puted to the warmth of the regions to which they had 
been lately accustomed, for the ropes were stiff with 



i It) SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 

frost, and the meat could scarcely be conveyed warm to 
table. 

On June 17th they came to anchor in 38 deg. 30 mm 
when they saw the land naked, and the trees without 
leaves, and in a short time had opportunities of observ- 
ing that the natives of that country were not less sensi- 
ble of the cold than themselves; for the next day came a 
man rowing in his canoe towards the ship, and at a dis- 
tance from it made a long oration, with very extraordi- 
nary gesticulations, and great appearance of vehemence, 
and a little time afterwards made a second visit in the 
same manner, and then returning a third time, he pre- 
sented them, after his harangue was finished, with a 
kind of crown of black feathers, such as their kings wear 
upon their heads, and a basket of rushes filled with a 
particular herb, both which he fastened to a short stick, 
and threw into the boat; nor could he be prevailed upon 
to receive any thing in return, though pushed towards 
him upon a board; only he took up a hat which was flung 
into the water. 

Three days afterwards, their ship having received 
some damage at sea, was brought nearer to land that the 
lading might be taken out. In order to which, the Eng- 
lish, who had now learned not too negligently to commit 
their lives to the mercy of savage nations, raised a kind 
of fortification with stones, and built their tents within 
it. All this was not beheld by the inhabitants without 
the utmost astonishment, which incited them to come 
down in crowds to the coast, with no other view, as it 
appeared, than to worship the new divinities that had 
condescended to touch upon their country. 

Drake was far from countenancing their errors, or 
taking advantage of their weakness to injure or molest 
them; and therefore, having directed them to lay aside 
their bows and arrows, he presented them with linen, 
and other necessaries, of which he shewed them the use. 



SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 1 1 1 

iThey then returned to their habitations, about three 
quarters of a mile from the English camp, where they 
made such loud and violent outcries, that they were 
heard by the English, who found that they still persisted 
in their first notions, and were paying them their kind 
of melancholy adoration. 

Two days afterwards they perceived the approach of 
a far more numerous company, who stopped at the top 
of a hill which overlooked the English settlement, while 
one of them made a long oration, at the end of which all 
the assembly bowed their bodies, and pronounced the 
syllable Oh with a solemn tone, as by way of confirma- 
tion of what had been said by the orator. Then the men 
laying down their bows, and leaving the women and chil- 
dren on the top of the hill, came down towards the tents, 
and seemed transported in the highest degree at the 
kindness of the general, who received their gifts, and 
admitted them to his presence. The women at a dis- 
tance appeared seized with a kind of frenzy, such as that 
of old among the Pagans in some of their religious ce- 
remonies, and in honour, as it seemed, of their guests, 
tore their cheeks and bosoms with their nails, and threw 
themselves upon the stones with their naked bodies till 
they were covered with blood. 

These cruel rites, and mistaken honours, were by no 
means agreeable to Drake, whose predominant senti- 
ments were notions of piety, and, therefore, not to make 
that criminal in himself by his concurrence, which per- 
haps, ignorance might make guiltless in them, he or- 
dered his whole company to fall upon their knees, and 
with their eyes lifted up to heaven, that the savages 
might observe that their worship was addressed to a 
Being residing there, they all joined in praying that this 
harmless and deluded people might be brought to the 
knowledge of the true religion, and the doctrines of our 
blessed Saviour j after which they sung psalms, a perr 



1 12 SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 

formance so pleasing to their wild audience, that in all 
their visits they generally first accosted them with a re- 
quest that they would sing. They then returned all the 
presents which they had received, and retired. 

Three days after this, on June 25, 1579, our general 
received two ambassadors from the Hioh, or king of the 
country, who, intending to visit the camp, required that 
some token might be sent him of friendship and peace. 
This request was readily complied with, and soon after 
came the king, attended by a guard of an hundred tall 
men, and preceded by an officer of state, who carried a 
sceptre made of black wood, adorned with chains of a 
kind of bone or horn, which are marks of the highest 
honour among them, and having two crowns, made as 
before, with feathers fastened to it, with a bag of the 
same herb which was presented to Drake at his first 
arrival. 

Behind him was the king himself, dressed in a coat 
of coney-skins, with a cawl woven with feathers upon 
his head, an ornament so much in estimation there, that 
none but the domesiicks of the king are allowed to wear 
it; his attendants followed him, adorned nearly in the 
same manner; and after them came the common people, 
with baskets plaited so artificially that they held water, 
in which, by way of sacrifice, they brought roots and 
fish. 

Drake, not lulled into security, ranged his men in or- 
der of battle, and waited their approach, who coming 
nearer stood still while the sceptre-bearer made an ora- 
tion, at the conclusion of which they again came forward 
to the foot of the hill, and then the sceptre-bearer began 
a song, which he accompanied with a dance, in both 
which the men joined, but the women danced without 
singing. 

Drake now, distrusting them no longer, admitted 
them into his fortification, where they continued their 



SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 1 1 3 

b'ong and dance a short time; and then both the king, 
and some others of the company, made long harangues, 
in which it appeared, by the restof their behaviour, that 
they entreated him to accept of their country, and to 
take the government of it into his own hands; for the 
king, with the apparent concurrence of the rest, placed 
the crown upon his head, graced him with the chains 
and other signs of authority, and saluted him with the 
title of Hioh. 

The kingdom thus offered, though of no further value 
to him than as it furnished him with present necessa- 
ries, Drake thought it not prudent to refuse; and there- 
fore took possession of it in the name of Queen Eliza- 
beth, not without ardent wishes that this acquisition 
might have been of use to his native country, and that 
so mild and innocent a people might have been united 
to the church of Christ. 

The kingdom being thus consigned, and the grand 
affair at an end, the common people left their king and 
his domesticks with Drake, and dispersed themselves 
over the camp; and when they saw any one that pleased 
them by his appearance more than the rest, they tore 
their flesh and vented their outcries as before, in token 
of reverence and admiration. 

They then proceeded to shew them their wounds and 
diseases, in hopes of a miraculous and instantaneous 
cure; to which the English, to benefit and undeceive 
them at the same time, applied such remedies as they 
used on the like occasions. 

They were now grown confident and familiar, and 
came down to the camp every day repeating their cere- 
monies and sacrifices, till they were more fully informed 
how disagreeable they were to those whose favour they 
were so studious of obtaining: they then visited them 
without adoration indeed, but with a curiosity so ardent, 
that it left them no leisure to provide the necessaries of 



1 14 SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 

life, with which the English were therefore obliged to 
supply them. 

They had then sufficient opportunity to remark the 
customs and dispositions of these new allies, whom they 
found tractable and benevolent, strong of body far beyond 
the English, yet unfurnished witli weapons, either for 
assault or defence, their bows being too weak for any 
thing but sport. Their dexterity in taking fish was such, 
that, if they saw them so near the shore that they could 
come to them without swimming, they never missed 
them. 

The same curiosity that had brought them in such 
crowds to the shore, now induced Drake, and some of 
his company, to travel up into the country, which they 
found, at some distance from the coast, very fruitful, 
filled with large deer, and abounding with a peculiar 
kind of coneys, smaller than ours, with tails like that of 
a rat, and paws such as those of a mole; they have bags 
under their chin, in which they carry provisions to their 
young. 

The houses of the inhabitants are round holes dug in 
the ground, from the brink of which they raise rafters, 
or piles shelving towards the middle, where they all 
meet, and are crammed together; they lie upon rushes, 
with the fire in the midst, and let the smoke fly out at 
the door. 

The men are generally naked; but the women make 
a kind of petticoat of bulrushes, which they comb like 
hemp, and throw the skin of a deer over their shoulders. 
They are very modest, tractable, and obedient to their 
husbands. 

Such is the condition of this people; and not very dif- 
ferent is, perhaps, the state of the greatest part of man- 
kind. Whether more enlightened nations ought to look 
upon them with pity, as less happy than themselves, 
Bome sceptics have made, very unnecessarily, a difficul- 



SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 1 15 

ty of determining. More, they say, is lost by the per- 
plexities than gained by the instruction of science; we 
enlarge our vices with our knowledge, and multiply our 
wants wiftf our attainments, and the happiness of life is 
better secured by the ignorance of vice than by the 
knowledge of virtue. 

The fallacy by which such reasoners have imposed 
upon themselves, seems to arise from the comparison 
which they make, not between two men equally inclined 
to apply the means of happiness in their power to the 
end for which Providence conferred them, but furnished 
in unequal proportions with the means of happiness, 
which is the true state of savage and polished nations, 
but between two men, of which he to whom Providence 
has been most bountiful destroys the blessings by negli- 
gence, or obstinate misuse; while the other, steady, di- 
ligent, and virtuous, employs his abilities and conveni- 
encies to their proper end. The question is not, Whe- 
ther a good Indian or bad Englishman be most happy? 
but. Which state is most desirable, supposing virtue and 
reason the same in both? 

Nor is this the only mistake which is generally ad- 
mitted in this controversy, for these reasoners frequent- 
ly confound innocence with the mere incapacity of guilt. 
He that ncv^r saw, or heard, or thought of strong li- 
quors, cannot be proposed as a pattern of sobriety. 

This land was named, by Drake, Albion, from its 
white cliffs, in which it bore some resemblance to his 
native country; and the whole history of the resignation 
of it to the English was engraven on a piece of brass, 
then nailed on a post, and fixed up before their depar- 
ture, which being now discovered by the people to be 
near at hand, they could not forbear perpetual lamenta- 
tions. When the English on the 23d of July weighed 
anchor, they saw them climbing to the tops of hills, 
that they might keep them in sight, and observed fires 



116 SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 

lighted up in many parts of the country, on which, aS 
they supposed, sacrifices were offered. 

Near this harbour they touched at some islands, where 
they found great numbers of seals; and despairing now 
to find any passage through the northern parts, he, af> 
ter a general consultation, determined to steer away to 
the Moluccas, and setting sail July 25th, he sailed for 
sixty-eight days without sight of land; and on September 
30th arrived within view of some islands, situate about 
eight degrees northward from the line, from whence 
the inhabitants resorted to them in canoes, hollowed out 
of the solid trunk of a tree, and raised at both ends so 
high above the water, that they seemed almost a semi- 
circle; they were burnished in such a manner, that they 
shone like ebony, and were kept steady by a piece of 
timber, fixed on each side of them, with strong canes, 
that were fastened at one end to the boat, and at the 
other to the end of the timber. 

The first company that came brought fruits, potatoes, 
and other things of no great value, with an appearance 
of traffick, and exchanged their lading for other commo- 
dities, with great show of honesty and friendship; but 
having, as they imagined, laid all suspicion asleep, they 
soon sent another fleet of canoes, of which the crews 
behaved with all the insolence of tyrants, and all the ra- 
pacity of thieves; for, whatever was suffered to come 
into their hands, they seemed to consider as their own, 
and would neither pay for it nor restore it; and at length, 
finding the English resolved to admit them no longer, 
they discharged a shower of stones from their boats, 
which insult Drake prudently and generously returned 
by ordering a piece of ordnance to be fired without hurt- 
ing them, at which they were so terrified, that they 
leaped into the water, and hid themselves under the 
canoes. 

Having for some time but little wind, they did not ^r^ 



SIR FRANCIS DRAKE^ 1 \>? 

r[\e at the Moluccas till the third of November, and 
then designing to touch at Tidore, they were visited, as 
they sailed by a little island belonging to the king of 
Ternate, by the viceroy of the place, who informed them, 
that it would be more advantageous for them to have 
recourse to his master for supplies and assistance than 
to the king of Ternab, who was in some degree depen- 
dent on the Portuguese, and that he would himself carry 
the news of their arrival, and prepare for their recep- 
tion. 

Drake was, by the arguments of the viceroy, prevailed 
upon to alter his resolution; and, on November 5, cast 
anchor before Ternate; and scarce was he arrived, before 
the viceroy, with others of the chief nobles, came out 
in three large boats, rowed by forty men on each side, 
to conduct the ship into a safe harbour; and soon after 
the king himself, having received a velvet cloak by a 
messenger from Drake, as a token of peace, came with 
such a retinue and dignity of appearance as was not ex- 
pected in those remote parts of the world. He was re- 
ceived with discharges of cannon and every kind of 
musick, with which he was so much delighted, that, de- 
siring the musicians to come down into the boat, he was 
towed along in at the stern of the ship. 

The king was of a graceful stature, and regal carriage, 
of a mild aspect, and low voice; his attendants were dres- 
sed in white cotton or callicoe, of whom some, whose 
age gave them a venerable appearance, seemed his coun- 
sellors, and the rest officers or nobles; his guards were 
not ignorant of fire-arms, but had not many among them, 
being equipped for the most part with bows and darts. 

The king having spent some time in admiring the 
multitude of new objects that presented themselves, re- 
tired as soon as the ship was brought to anchor, and pr<- 
mised to return on the day following; and in the mea;^ 



118 SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 

time the inhabitants, having leave to traffick, brought 
down provisions in great abundance. 

At the time when the king was expected, his brother 
came aboard, lo request of Drake that he would come 
to the caslle, proposing to stay himself as a hostage for 
his return. Drake refused to go, but sent some gentle- 
men, detaining the king's brother in the mean time. 

These gentlemen were received by another of the 
king's brothers, who conducted them to the council- 
house near the castle, in which they were directed to 
walk: there they found threescore old men, privy coun- 
sellors to the king, and on each side of the door without 
stood four old men of foreign countries, who served as 
interpreters in commerce. 

In a short time the king came from the castle, dress- 
ed in cloth of gold, with his hair woven into gold rings, 
a chain of gold upon his neck, and on his hands rings 
very artificially set with diamonds and jewels of great 
value; over his head was borne a rich canopy; and by 
his chair of state, on which he sat down when he had 
entered the house, stood a page with a fan set with sap- 
phires, to moderate the excess of the heat. Here he re- 
ceived the compliments of the Enghsh, and then honour- 
ably dismissed them. 

The castle, which they had some opportunity of ob- 
serving, seemed of no great force; it was built by the 
Portuguese, who, attempting to reduce this kingdom 
into an absolute subjection, murdered the king, and in- 
tended to pursue their scheme, by the destruction of all 
his sons; but the general abhorrence which cruelty and 
perfidy naturally excite, armed all the nation against 
them, and procured their total expulsion from all the 
dominions of Ternate, which from that time increasing 
in power, continued to make new conquests, and to de- 
prive them of other acquisitions. 

While they lay before Ternate, a gentleman came on 



SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 119 

board attended by his interpreter. He was dressed some- 
what in the European manner, and soon distinguished 
himself from the natives of Ternate, or any other coun- 
try that they had seen, by his civility and apprehension. 
Such a visitant may easily be imagined to excite their 
curiosity, which he gratified by informing them that he 
was a native of China, of the family of the king then 
reigning; and, tl\at being accused of a capital crime, of 
which, though he was innocent, he had not evidence to 
clear himself, he had petitioned the king that he might 
not be exposed to a trial, but that his cause might be 
referred to Divine Providence, and that he might be al- 
lowed to leave his country, with a prohibition against 
returning, unless heaven, in attestation of his innocence, 
should enable him to bring back to the king some intel- 
ligence that might be to the honour and advantage of 
the empire of China. In search of such information he 
had now spent three years, and had left Tidore for the 
sake of conversing with the English general, from whom 
he hoped to receive such accounts as would enable him 
to return with honour and safety. 

Drake willingly recounted all his adventures and ob- 
servations, to which the Chinese exile listened with the 
utmost attention and delight, and having fixed them in 
his mind, thanked God for the knowledge he had gained. 
He then proposed to the English general to conduct him 
to China, recounting, by way of invitation, the wealth, 
extent, and felicity of that empire; but Drake could not 
be induced to prolong his voyage. 

He therefore set sail on the 9thof November inquest 
of some convenient harbour, in a desert island, to refit 
his ship, not being willing? as it seems, to trust to the 
genero"sity of the king of Ternate. Five days afterwards 
he found a very commodious harbour in an island over- 
grown with wood, where he repaired his vessel and re- 
freshed his men without danger or interruption. 



120 SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 

Leaving this place the 12th of December, they sailed 
towards the Celebes; but, having- a wind not very favour- 
able, they were detained among a multitude of islands, 
mingled with dangerous shallows, till January 9, 1580, 
When they thought themselves clear, and were sailing 
forwards with a strong gale, they were at the beginning 
of the night surprised in their course by a sudden shock, 
of which the cause was easily discovered, for they were 
thrown upon a shoal, and by the speed of their course 
fixed too Tast for any hope of escaping. Here even the 
intrepidity of Drake was shaken, and his dexterity baf- 
fled; but his piety, however, remained still the same, 
and what he could not now promise himself from his (.wn 
ability, he hoped from the assistance of Providence. 
The pump was plied, and the ship found free from new 
leaks. 

The next attempt was to discover towards the sea some 
place where they might fix their anchor, and from thence 
drag the ship into deep water; but upon examination it 
appeared that the rock on which they had struck, rose 
perpendicularly from the water, and there was no an- 
chorage, nor any bottom to be found a boat's length 
from the ship. But this discovery, with its consequences, 
was by Drake wisely concealed from the common sai- 
lors, lest they should abandon themselves to despair, for 
which there was, indeed, cause; there being no prospect 
left but that they must there sink with the ship, which 
must undoubtedly be soon dashed to pieces, or perish 
in attempting to reach the shore in their boat, or be cut 
in pieces by barbarians if they should arrive at land. 

In the midst of this perplexity and distress, Drake 
directed that the sacrament should be administered, and 
his men fortified with all the consolation which religion 
affords; then persuaded them to lighten the vessel by 
throwing into the sea part of their lading, which was 
cheerfully complied with) but without effect. At length, 



SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 12 1 

when their hopes had forsaken them, and no new strug- 
gles could be made, they were on a sudden relieved by 
a remission of the wind, which having hitherto blown 
strongly against the side of the ship which lay towards 
the sea, held it upright against the rock; but when the 
blast slackened (being then low water) the ship lying 
higher with that part which rested on the rock than with 
the other, and being borne up no longer by the wind, 
reeled into the deep water, to the surprise and joy of 
Drake and his companions. 

This was the greatest and most inextricable distress 
which they had ever suffered, and made such an im- 
pression upon their minds, that for some time afterwards 
they durst not adventure to spread their sails, but went 
slowly forward with the utmost circumspection. 

They thus continued their course without any observ- 
able occurrence, till on the 1 1th of March they came to 
an anchor before the island of Java, and, sending to the 
king a present of cloth and silks, received from him, in 
return, a large quantity of provisions; and the day fol- 
lowing Drake went himself on shore, and entertained 
the king with his musick, and obtained leave to store his 
ship with provisions. 

The island is governed by a great number of petty 
kings, or raias, subordinate to one chief; of these princes 
three came on board together a few days after their ar- 
rival; and, having upon their return recounted the won- 
ders which they had seen, and the civility with which 
they had been treated, incited others to satisfy their cu- 
riosity in the same manner; and raia Donan the chief 
king, came himself to view the ship, with the warlike 
armaments and instruments of navigation. 

This intercourse of civilities somewhat retarded the 
business for which they came; but at length they not 
only victualled their ship, but cleansed the bottom, which, 

Vol. XII. F 



i22 SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 

in the long course, was overgrown with a kind of shell- 
fish that impeded her passage. 

Leaving Java on March 26, they sailed homewards 
by the Cape of Good Hope, which they saw on June the 
5th; on the 15th of August passed the tropic; and on 
the 26th of September arrived at Plymouth, where they 
found that, by passing through so many different chmates, 
they had lost a day in their account of time, it being Sun- 
day by their journal, but Monday by the general compu- 
tation. 

In this hazardous voyage they had spent two years, 
ten months, and some odd days; but were recompensed 
for their toils by great riches, and the universal applause 
of their countrymen, Drake afterwards brought his ship 
up to Deptford, where Queen Elizabeth visited him on 
board his ship, and conferred the honour of knighthood 
upon him; an honour in that illustrious reign not made 
cheap by prostitution, nor even bestowed without un- 
common merit. 

It is not necessary to give an account equally particu- 
lar of the remaining part of his life, as he was no longer 
a private man, but engaged in publick aff'airs, and asso- 
ciated in his expeditions with other generals, whose at- 
tempts and the success of them are related in the histo- 
ries of those times. 

In 1585, on the 12th of September, Sir Francis Drake 
set sail from Plymouth with a fleet of five-and-twenty 
ships and pinnaces, of which himself was admiral. Cap- 
tain Martin Forbisher vice-admiral, and Captain Francis 
Knollis rear-admiral: they were fitted out to cruize upon 
the Spaniards: and having touched at the isle of Bayonne 
and plundered Vigo, put to sea again, and on the 16th 
of November arrived before St. Jago, which they en- 
tered without resistance, and rested there fourteen days, 
visiting in the mean time San Domingo, a town within 
the land, which they found likewise deserted; and, carry- 



SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 123 

ing off what they pleased of the produce of the island, 
they at their departure destroyed the town and villages, 
in revenue of the murder of one of their boys, whose 
body they found mangled in a most inhuman manner. 

From this island they pursued their voyage to the 
West-Indies, determining to attack St. Domingo, in 
Hispaniola, as the richest place in that part of the world: 
they therefore landed a thousand men, and with small 
loss entered the town, of which they kept possession for 
a month without interruption or alarm; during which 
time a remarkable accident happened which deserves to 
be related. 

Drake, having some intention of treating with the 
Spaniards, sent to them a negro-boy with a flag of truce, 
which one of the Spaniards so little regarded, that he 
stabbed him through the body with a lance. The boy, 
notwithstanding his wound, came back to the general, 
related the treatment which he had found, and died in 
his sight. Drake was so incensed at this outrage, that 
he ordered two friars, then his prisoners, to be conveyed 
with a guard to the place where the crime was commit- 
ted, and hanged up in the sight of the Spaniards, declaring 
that two Spanish prisoners should undergo the same 
death every day, till the offender should be delivered up 
by them: they were too well acquainted with the cha- 
racter of Drake not to bring him on the day following, 
when, to impress the shame of such actions more effec- 
tually upon them, he compelled them to execute him 
with their own hands. Of this town, at their departure, 
they demolished part, and admitted the rest to be ran- 
somed for five-and-twenty thousand ducats. 

From thence they sailed to Carthagena, where the 
enemy having received intelligence of the fate of St. 
Domingo, had strengthened their fortifications, and pre- 
pared to defend themselves with great obstinacy; but the 
English, landing in the night, came upon them by a 



124 SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 

way which they did not expect, and being better armed, 
partly by surprise, and partly by superiority of order and 
valour, became masters of the place, where they stayed 
without fear or danger six weeks, and at their departure 
received an hundred and ten thousand ducats, for the 
ransom of the town. 

They afterwards took St. Augustin, and touching at 
Virginia took on board the governor, Mr. Lane, with 
the English that had been left there the year before by 
Sir Walter Raleigh, and arrived at Portsmouth on July 
28, 1586, having lost on the voyage seven hundred and 
fifty men. The gain of this expedition amounted to sixty 
thousand pounds, of which forty were the share of the 
adventurers who fitted out the ships, and the rest distri- 
buted among the several crews, amounted to six pounds 
each man. So cheaply is life sometimes hazarded! 

The transactions against the armada, 1588, are in 
themselves far more memorable, but less necessary to 
be recited in this succinct narrative; only let it be re- 
membered, that the post of vice-admiral of England, to 
which Sir Francis Drake was then raised, is a sufficient 
proof, that no obscurity of birth, or meanness of fortune, 
is unsurmountable to bravery and diligence. 

In 1595 Sir Francis Drake and Sir John Hawkins 
were sent with a fleet to the West-Indies, which expe- 
dition was only memorable for the destruction of Nom- 
bre de Dios, and the death of the two commanders, of 
whom Sir Francis Drake died January 9, 1597, and was 
thrown into the sea in a leaden coffin, with all the pomp 
of naval obsequies. It is reported by some that the ill 
success of this voyage hastened his death. Upon what 
this conjecture is grounded does not appear, and we 
may be allowed to hope, for the honour of so great a 
man, that it is without foundation; and that he whom 
no series of success could ever betray to vanity or ne- 
gligence, could have supported a change of fortune with- 
oVLt impatience or dejection. 



BAllEETIEK.* 



JHaVING not been able to procure materials for a 
complete life of Mr. Barretier, and being nevertheless 
willing to gratify the curiosity justly raised in the pub- 
lick by his uncommon attainments, we think the follow- 
ing extracts of letters, written by his father, proper to 
be inserted in our collection, as they contain many re- 
markable passages, and exhibit a general view of bis 
genius and learning. 

JOHN PHILIP BARRETIER was born at Schwa- 
bach, January 19, 1720-21. His father was a Calvinist 
minister of that place, who took upon himself the care 
of his education. What arts of instruction he used, or 
by what method he regulated the studies of his son, we 
are not able to inform the publick: but take this oppor- 
tunity of intreating those who have received more com- 
plete intelligence, not to deny mankind so great a bene- 
fit as the improvement of education. 

If Mr. Le Fevre thought the method in which he 
taught his children worthy to be communicated to the 
learned world, how justly may Mr. Barretier claim the 
universal attention of mankind to a scheme of education 
that has produced such a stupendous progressl The au- 

* This article was first printed in the Gentleman's Magazine 
for 1740. K 



126 BARRETIER. 

thors who have endeavoured to teach certain and unfail- 
ing rules for obtaining a long life, however they have 
failed in their attempts, are universally confessed to 
have at least the merit of a great and noble design, and 
to have deserved gratitude and honour. 

How much more then is due to Mr. Barretier, who has 
succeeded in what they have only attempted! for to pro- 
long life, and improve it, are nearly the same. If to have 
all that riches can purchase, is to be rich; if to do all 
that can be done in a long time, is to live long; he is 
equally a benefactor to mankind, who teaches them to 
protract the duration, or shorten the business of life. 

That there are few things more worthy our curiosity 
than this method, by which the father assisted the geniu> 
of the son, every man will be convinced, that considers 
the early proficiency at which it enabled him to arrive; 
such a proficiency as no one has yet reached at the same 
age, and to which it is therefore probable that every ad- 
vantageous circumstance concurred. 

At the age of nine years, he not only was master of 
five languages, an attainment in itself almost incredible, 
but understood, says his father, the holy writers better in 
their original tongues than in his own. If he means by 
this assertion, that he knew the sense of many passages 
in the original, which were obscure in the translation, 
the account, however wonderful, may be admitted; but 
if he intends to tell his correspondent, that his son was 
better acquainted with the two languages of the Bible 
than with his own, he must be allowed to speak hyperbo- 
lically, or to admit that his son had somewhat neglected 
-the study of his native language; or we must own, that 
the fondness of a parent has transported him into some 
natural exaggerations. 

Part of this letter I am tempted to suppress, being 
unwilling to demand the belief of others to that which 



BARRETIER. 127 

appears incredible to myself; but as my incredulity may, 
perhaps, be the product rather of prejudice than reason, 
as envy may beget a disinclination to admit so immense 
a superiority, and as an account is not to be immediately 
censured as false merely because it is wonderful, I shall 
proceed to give the rest of his father's relation, from 
his letter of the 3d of March, 1729-30. He speaks, con- 
tinues he, German, Latin, and French equally well. He 
can, by laying before him a translation, read any of the 
books of the Old or New Testament in its original lan- 
guage, without hesitation or perplexity. He is no stran- 
ger to biblical criticism or philosophy, nor unacquainted 
with ancient and modern geography, and is qualified to 
support a conversation with learned men, who frequently 
visit and correspond with him. 

In his eleventh year, he not only published a learned 
letter in Latin, but translated the travels of Rabbi Benja- 
min from the Hebrew into French, which ne illustrated 
with notes, and accompanied with dissertations; a work 
in which his father, as he himself declares, could give 
him little assistance, as he did not understand the Rab- 
binical dialect. 

The reason for which his father engaged him in this 
work was only to prevail upon him to write a fairer hand 
than he had hitherto accustomed himself to do, by giving 
him hopes, that, if he should translate some little author, 
and offer a fair copy of his version to some bookseller, he 
might, in return for it, have other books which he want- 
ed, and could not afford to purchase. 

Incited by this expectation, he fixed upon the " Travels 
" of Rabbi Benjamin, " as most proper for his purpose, 
being a book neither bulky nor common; and in one 
month completed his translation, applying only one or 
two hours a day to that particular task. In another month, 
he drew up the principal notes; and, in the third, wrote 



128 BAKRETIER. 

some dissertations upon particular passages whicii 
seemed to require a larger examination. 

These notes contain so many curious remarks and 
enquiries, out of the common road of learning, and afford 
so many histances of penetration, judgment, and accu- 
racy, that the reader finds in every page some reason 
to persuade him that they cannot possibly be the work of 
a child, but of a man long accustomed to these studies, 
enlightened by reflection, and dextrous by long practice 
in the use of books. Yet, that it is the performance of a 
boy thus young is not only proved by the testimony of 
his father, but by the concurrent evidence of Mr. Le 
Maitre, his associate in the church of Schwabach, who 
not only asserts his claim to this work, but affirms that 
hie heard him at six years of age explain the Hebrew 
text as if it had been his native language; so that the fact 
is not to be doubted without a degree of incredulity 
which it will not be very easy to defend. 

This copy was, however, far from being written with 
the neatness which his father desired; nor did the book- 
sellers, to whom it was offered, make proposals very 
agreeable to the expectations of the young translator; 
but after having examined the performance in their 
manner, and determined to print it upon conditions not 
very advantageous, returned it to be transcribed, that the 
printers might not be embarressed with a copy so difficult 
to read. 

Barretier was now advanced to the latter end of his 
twelfth year, and had made great advances in his studies, 
notwithstanding an obstinate tumour in his left hand, 
which gave him great pain, and obliged him to a tedious 
and troublesome method of cure; and reading over his 
performance, was so far from contenting himself with 
barely transcribing it, that he altered the greatest part of 
the notes, new-modelled the dissertations, and augmen- 
ted the boQk to twic^ its former bulk. 



BARRETIER. 129 

The few touches which his father bestowed upon the 
revisal of the book, though they are minutely set clown 
by him in the preface, are so inconsiderable that it is not 
necessary to mention them; and it may be much more 
agreeable, as well as useful, to exhibit the short account 
which he there gives of the method by which he enabled 
his son to shew so early how easy an attainment is the 
knowledge of the languages, a knowledge which some 
men spend their lives in cultivating, to the neglect of 
more valuable studies, and which they seem to regard as 
the highest perfection of human nature. 

What applauses are due to an old age, wasted in a 
scrupulous attention to particular accents and etymolo- 
gies, may appear, says his father, by seeing how little 
time is required to arrive at such an eminence in these 
studies, as many even of these venerable doctors have 
not attained, for want of rational methods and regular 
application. 

This censure is doubtless just upon those who spend 
too much of their lives upon useless niceties, or who ap- 
pear to labour without making any progress; but as the 
knowledge of language is necessary, and a minute accu- 
racy sometimes requisite, they are by no means to be 
blamed, who, in compliance with the particular bent of 
their own minds, make the difficulties of dead languages 
their chief study, and arrive at excellence proportionate 
to their application, since it was to the labour of such 
men that his son was indebted for his own learning. 

The first languages which Barretier learned were 
the French, German, and Latin, which he was taught 
not in the common way by a multitude of definitions, 
rules, and exceptions, which fatigue the attention and 
burthen the memory, without any use proportionate to 
the time which they require, and the disgust which they 
create. The method by which he was instructed was 
easy and expeditious, and therefore pleasing. He learned 
them all in the same manner, and almost at the same 

F 2 ' 



130 BARRETIER. 

time, by conversing in them indifferently witii iiis fa- 
ther. 

The other languages of which he was master, he 
learned by a method yet more uncommon. The only 
book which he made use of was the Bible, which his 
father laid before him in the language that he then pro- 
posed to learn, accompanied with a translation, being 
taught by degrees the inflections of nouns and verbs. 
This method, says his father, made the Latin more 
famiiiar to him in his fourth year than any other lan- 
guage. 

When he Avas near the end of his sixth year, he en- 
tered upon the study of the Old Testament in its origi- 
nal language, beginning with the book of Genesis, to 
which his father confined him for six months; after 
which he read cursorily over the rest of the historical 
books, in which he found very little difficulty, and then 
applied himself to the study of the poetical writers, and 
the prophets, which he read over so often, with so close 
an attention and so happy a memory, that he could not 
only translate them without a moment's hesitation into 
Latin or French, but turn with the same facility the 
translations into the original language, in his tenth year. 

Growing at length weary of being confined to a book 
which he could almost entirely repeat, he deviated by 
stealth into other studies, and, as his translation of Ben- 
jamin is a sufficient evidence, he read a multitude of 
writers of various kinds. In his twelfth year he applied 
more particularly to the study of the fathers, and Coun- 
cils of the six first centuries, and began to make a regu- 
lar collection of their canons. He read every author in 
the original, having discovered so much negligence 
or ignorance in most translations, that he paid no regard 
to their authority. 

Thus he continued his studies, neither drawn aside by 
pleasures nor discouraged by difficulties. The greatest 



BARRETIER. 131 

obstacle to his improvement was want of books, with 
which his narrow fortune could not liberally supply him; 
so that he was obliged to borrow the greatest part of 
those which his studies required, and to return them 
when he had read them, without being able to consult 
them occasionally, or to recur to them when his memo- 
ry should fail him. 

It is observable, that neither his diligence, uninter- 
mitted as it was, nor his want of books, a want of which 
he was in the highest degree sensible, ever produced in 
him that asperity, which a long and recluse life, without 
any circumstance of disquiet, frequently creates. He was 
always gay, lively, and facetious, a temper which con- 
tributed much to recommend his learning, and which 
some students much superior in age would consult their 
ease, their reputation, and their interest, by copying from 
him. 

In the year 1735 he published And-Artemonius sive 
Initium Evangelii S. Joannis adversus Artemonium vin- 
dicatum^ and attained such a degree of reputation, that 
not only the publick, but princes, who are commonly the 
last by whom merit is distinguished, began to interest 
themselves in his success; for the same year the king 
of Prussia, who had heard of his early advances in lite- 
rature on account of a scheme for discovering the longi- 
tude, which had been sent to the Royal Society of Ber- 
lin, and which was transmitted afterwards by him to 
Paris and London, engaged to take care of his fortune, 
having received further proofs of his abilities at his own 
court. 

Mr. Barretier, being promoted to the cure of the 
church of Stetin, was obliged to travel with his 
thither from Schwabach, through Leipsic and Berlin, a 
journey very agreeable to his son, as it would furnish 
him with new opportunities of improving his knowledge, 
and extendifig his acquaintance among men of letters* 



132 BARRETIER. 

For this purpose they staid some time at Leipsic, and 
then travelled to Hall, where young Barretier so distin- 
guished himself in his conversation with the professors 
df the university, that they offered him his degree of 
doctor in philosophy, a dignity correspondent to that of 
master of arts among us. Barretier drew up that night 
some positions in philosophy and the mathematicks, 
which he sent immediately to the press, and defended 
the next day in a crowded auditory with so much wit, 
spirit, presence of thought, and strength of reason, that 
the whole university was delighted and amazed; he was 
then admitted to his degree, and attended by the whole 
concourse to his lodgings, with compliments and accla- 
mations. 

His Theses or philosophical positions, which he print- 
ed in compliance with the practice of that university, 
ran through several editions in a few weeks, and no tes- 
timony of regard was wanting that could contribute to 
animate him in his progress. 

When they arrived at Berlin, the king ordered him to 
be brought into his presence, and was so much pleased with 
his conversation, that he sent for him almost every day 
during his stay at Berlin; and diverted himself with en- 
i^aging him in conversations upon a multitude of sub- 
jects, and in disputes with learned men; on all which 
occasions he acquitted himself so happily, that the king 
formed the highest ideas of his capacity, and future emi- 
nence. And thinking, perhaps with reason, that active 
life was the noblest sphere of a great genius, he recom- 
mended to him the study of modern history, the customs 
of nations, and those parts of learning, that are of use in 
publick transactions and civil employments, declaring 
that such abilities properly cultivated might exalt him, 
in ten years, to be the greatest minister of state in Eu- 
rope. Barretier, whether we attribute it to his modera- 
tion or inexperience, was not dazzled by the prospects 



BARRETIER. 133 

of such high promotion; but answered, that he was too 
much pleased with science and quiet to leave them for 
such inextricable studies, or such harassing fatigues. A re- 
solution so unpleasing to the king, that his father attri- 
butes to it the delay of those favours which they had 
hopes of receiving; the king having, as he observes, de- 
termined to employ him in the ministry. 

It is not impossible that paternal affection might sug- 
gest to Mr. Barretier some false conceptions of the king's 
design; for he infers from the introduction of his son to 
the young princes, and the caresses which he received 
from them, that the king intended him for their precep- 
tor; a scheme, says he, which some other resolution hap- 
pily destroyed. 

Whatever was originally intended, and by whatever 
means these intentions were frustrated, Barretier, after 
having been treated with the highest regard by the whole 
royal family, was dismissed with a present of two hundred 
crowns; and his father, instead of being fixed at Stetin, 
was made pastor of the French church at Hall; a place 
more commodious for study, to which they retired; Bar- 
retier being first admitted into the Royal Society at Ber- 
lin, and recommended by the king to the university at 
Hall. 

At Hall he continued his studies with his usual appli- 
cation and success, and, either by his own reflections, 
or the persuasions of his father, was prevailed upon to 
give up his own inclinations to those of the king, and di- 
rect his enquiries to those subjects that had been recom- 
mended by him. 

He continued to add new acquisitions to his learning, 
and to increase his reputation by new performances, till, 
in the beginning of his ninteenth year, his health began 
to decline, and his indisposition, which, being not alarm- 
ing or violent, was perhaps not at first sufficiently regard- 
ed, increased by slow degreesfor eighteen months, during 



134 BARRETIER. 

which he spent days among his books, and neither neg- 
lected his studies, nor left his gaiety, till his distemper, 
ten days before his death, deprived him of the use of his 
limbs; he then prepared himself for his end, without fear 
or emotion, and on the 5th of October, 1740, resigned 
his soul into the hands of his Saviour, with confidence and 
franquillity. 



MOEIN. 



•^-- 



LeWIS MORIN was born at Mans, on the 1 Ith of 
July, 1635, of parents eminent for their piety. He was the 
eldest of sixteen children, a family to which their estate 
bore no proportion, and which in persons less resigned 
to Providence, would have caused great uneasiness and 
anxiety. 

His parents omitted nothing in his education, which 
religion requires, and which their fortune could supply. 
Botany was the study that appeared to have taken posses- 
sion of his inclination, as soon as the bent of his genius 
could be discovered. A countryman, who supplied the 
apothecaries of the place, was his first master, and was paid 
by him for his instructions with the little money he could 
procure, or that which was given him to buy something 
to eat after dinner. Thus abstinence and generosity disco- 
vered themselves with his passion for botany; and the gra- 
tification of a desire indifferent in itself was procured by 
the exercise of two virtues. 

He was soon master of all his instructor's knowledge, 
and was obliged to enlarge his acquaintance with plants, 
by observing them himself in the neighbourhood of Mans. 
Having finished his grammatical studies, he was sent to 

* Translated from an eloge by Fontenelle, and first printed in 
the Gentleman's Magazine for 1741. 



156 MORIN. 

learn philosophy at Paris, whither he travelled on foot 
like a student in botany, and was careful not to lose such 
an opportunity of improvement. 

When his course of philosophy was completed, he was 
determined, by his love of botany, to the profession of 
physick, and from that time engaged in a course of life, 
which was never exceeded either by the ostentation of a 
philosopher, or the severity of an anchoret; for he con- 
fined himself to bread and water, and at most allowed 
himself no indulgence beyond fruits. By this method he 
preserved a constant freedom and serenity of spirts, al- 
ways equally proper for study; for his soul had no pre- 
tences to complain of being overwhelmed with matter. 

This regimen, extraordinary as it was, had many ad- 
vantages; for it preserved his health, an advantage which 
very few sufficiently regard; it gave him an authority to 
preach diet and abstinence to his patients; and it made 
him rich v/ithout the assistance of fortune; rich, not for 
himself, but for the poor, who were the only persons be- 
nefited by that artificial affluence, which of all others is 
most difficult to acquire. It is easy to imagine, that, while 
he practised in the midst of Paris the severe temperance 
of a hermit, Paris diff'ered no otherwise with regard tg 
him from a hermitage, than as it supplied him with books, 
and the conversation of learned men. 

In 1662 he was admitted doctor of physick. About that 
time Dr. Fagon, Dr. Longuet, and Dr. Galois, all emi- 
nent for their skill in botany, were employed in drawing 
up a catalogue of the plants in the Royal Garden, which 
was pubhshed in 1665, under the name of Dr. Vallot, 
then first physician: during the prosecution of this work, 
Dr. Morin was often consulted, and from those conver- 
sations it was that Dr. Fagon conceived a particular 
esteem of him, which he always continued to retain. 

After having practised physick some years, he was ad- 
mitted Expectant at the Hotel Dieu, where he was regu- 



MORiN. isr 

larly to have been made Pensionary physician upon the 
first vacancy; but mere unassisted merit advances slowly, 
if, what is not very common, it advances at all. Morin 
had no acquaintance with the arts necessary to carry on 
schemes of preferment; the moderation of his desires 
preserved him from the necessity of studying them, and 
the privacy of his life debarred him from any oppor- 
tunity. 

At last, however, justice was done him in spite of* 
artifice and partiality, but his advancement added nothing 
to his condition, except the power of more extensive 
charity; for all the money which he received as a salary, 
he put into the chest of the hospital, always as he imagined, 
without being observed. Not content with serving the 
poor for nothing, he paid them for being served. 

His reputation rose so high in Paris, that Mademoi- 
selle de Guise was desirous to make him her physician, 
but it was not without difficulty that he was prevailed 
upon by his friend, Dr. Dodart, to accept the place. He 
was by this new advancement laid under the necessity of 
keeping a chariot, an equipage very unsuitable to his tem- 
per; but while he complied with those exterior appear- 
ances which the publick had a right to demand from him, 
he remitted nothing of his former austerity in the more 
private and essential parts of his life, which he had al- 
ways the power of regulating according to his own dis- 
position. 

In two years and a half the princess fell sick, and was 
despaired of by Morin, who was a great master of prog- 
nosticks. At the time when she thought herself in no 
danger, he pronounced her death inevitable, a declara- 
tion to the highest degree disagreeable, but which was 
made more easy to him than to any other by his piety 
and artless simplicity. Nor did his sincerity produce any 
ill consequences to himself; for the princess, affected by 
his zeal, taking a ring from her finger, gave it him as 



]M MORIN. 

the last pledge of her affection, and rewarded him still 
more to his satisfaction, by preparing for death with a 
true Christian piety. She left him by will an yearly pen- 
sion of two thousand livers, which was always regularly 
paid him. 

No sooner was the princess dead, but he freed himself 
from the incumbrance of his chariot, and retired to St. 
Victor without a servant, having however, augmented 
his daily allowance with a little rice boiled in water. 

Dodart, who had undertaken the charge of being am- 
bitious on his account, procured him, at the restoration 
of the academy in 1699, to be nominated associate bota- 
nist; not knowing, what he doubtless would have been 
pleased with the knowledge of, that he introduced into 
that assembly the man that was to succeed him in his 
place of Pensionary. 

Dr. Morin was not one who had upon his hands the 
labour of adapting himself to the duties of his condition, 
but always found himself naturally adapted to them. He 
had, therefore, no difficulty in being constant at the as- 
semblies of the academy, notwithstanding the distance 
of places, while he had strength enough to support the 
journey. But his regimen was not equally effectual to 
produce vigour as to prevent distempers; and being 64 
years old at his admission, he could not continue his as- 
siduity more than a year after the death of Dodart, whom 
he succeeded in 1767. 

When Mr. Tournefort went to pursue his botanical 
enquiries in the Levant, he desired Dr. Morin to supply 
his place of Demonstrator of the Plants in the royal Gar- 
den; and rewarded him for the trouble^ by inscribing 
to him a new pl^nt which he brought from the east by 
the name of Alorina Orientalise as he named others the 
Dodarto^ the Fagnonne^ the Bignonne, the Phelifiee, 
These are compliments proper to be made by the botan- 
ists, not only to those of their own rank, but to the grea- 
test persons; for a plant is a monument of a more dura- 



MORIN. 139 

ble nature than a medal or an obelisk; and yet, as a proof 
that even these vehicles are not always sufficient to trans- 
mit to futurity the name conjoined with them, the Mco- 
tiana is now scarcely known by any other name than that 
of tobacco. 

Dr. Morin, advancing far in age, was now forced to take 
a servant, and, what was yet a more essential alteration, 
prevailed upon himself to take an ounce of wine a day, 
which he measured with the same exactness as a medi- 
cine bordering upon poison. He quitted at the same time 
all his practice in the city, and confined it to the poor of 
his neighbourhood, and his visits to the Hotel Dieu; but, 
his weakness increasing, he was forced to increase his 
quantity of wine, which yet he always continued to ad- 
just by weight.* 

At 78 his legs could carry him no longer, and he 
scarcely left his bed; but his intellects continued unim- 
pared, except in the last six months of his life. He expi- 
red, or, to use a more proper term, went our, on the 
1st of March, 1714, at the age of 80 years, without any 
distemper, and merely for want of strength, having en- 
joyed by the benefit of his regimen a long and healthy 
life, and a gentle and easy death. 

This extraordinary regimen was but part of the daily 
regulation of his life, of which all the offices were car- 
ried on with a regularity and exactness nearly approach- 
ing to that of the planetary motions. 

He went to bed at seven, and rose at two, throughout 

* The practice of Dr. Morin is forbidden, I believe, by every 
writer that has left rules for the preservation of health, and is 
directly opposite to that of Cornaro, who by his regimen repaired 
a broken constitution, and protracted his life, without any painful 
infirmities, or any decay of his intellectual abilities, to more thaa 
a hundred years; it is generally agreed, that as men advance in 
years, they ought to take ligher sustenance, and in less quanti- 
ties; and reason seems easily to discover that as the concoctive 
powers grow weaker, they ought to labour less. Ori^. Edit. 



140 MORIN. 

the year. He spent in the morning three hours at his 
devotions, and went to the Hotel Dieu in the summer 
between five and six, and in the winter between six and 
seven, hearing mass for the most part at Notre Dame. 
After his return he read the Holy Scripture, dined at ele- 
ven, and when it was fair weather walked till two in the 
royal garden, where he examined the new plants, and 
gratified his earliest and strongest passion. For the re- 
maining part of the day, if he had no poor to visit, he 
shut himself up, and read books of literature or physick, 
but chiefly physick, as the duty of his profession required. 
This likewise was the time he received visits, if any were 
paid him. He often used this expression, " Those that 
come to see me, do me honour; and those that stay away, 
do me a favour.'* It is easy to conceive that a man of this 
temper was not crowded with salutations: there was only 
now and then an Antony that would pay Paul a visit. 

Among his papers were found a Greek and Latin in- 
dex to Hippocrates, more copious and exact than that of 
Pini, which he had finished only a year before his death. 
Such a work required the assiduity and patience of an 
hermit.* 

There is likewise a journal of the weather, kept with- 
out interruption, for more than forty years, in which he 
has accurately set down the state of the barometer and 
thermometer, the dryness and moisture of the air, the 
variations of the wind in the course of the day, the rain, 
the thunders, and even the sudden storms, in a very 
commodious and concise method, which exhibits, in a 
little room, a great train of diflTerent observations. What 
numbers of such remarks had escaped a man less uni- 

* This is an instance of the disposition generally found in wri- 
ters of lives, to exalt every common occurrence and action into 
wonder Are not indexes daily written by men who neither re- 
ceive nor expect any loud applauses for their labours? Orig. Edit-: 



MORIN. 141 

form in his life, and whose attention had been extended 
to common objects! ' 

All the estate which he left is a collection of medals, 
another of herbs, and a library rated at two thousand 
crowns: which make it evident that he spent much more 
upon his mind than upon his body. 



BURMAN.* 



Peter BURMAN was bom at Utrecht, on the 26th 
day of June, 1668. The family from which he descended 
has for several generations produced men of great emi- 
nence for piety and learning; and his father, who was 
professor of divinity in the university, and pastor of the 
city of Utrecht, was equally celebrated for the strictness 
of his life, the efficacy and orthodoxy of his sermons, 
and the learning and perspicuity of his academical lec- 
tures. 

From the assistance and instruction which such a 
father would doubtless have been encouraged by the 
genius of this son not to have omitted, he was unhappily 
cut off at eleven years of age, being at that time by his 
father's death thrown entirely under the care of his 
mother, by whose diligence, piety, and prudence, his 
education was so regulated, that he had scarcely any rea- 
son, but filial tenderness, to regret the loss of his father. 

He was about this time sent to the publick school of 
Utrecht, to be instructed in the learned languages; and 
it will convey no common idea of his capacity and indus- 
try to relate, that he had passed through the classes, 
and was admitted into the university, in his thirteenth 
year. 

* First Printed in the Gentleman's Magazine for 1742. N, 



BURMAN. ' 145 

This account of the rapidity of his progress in the 
first part of his studies is so stupendous, that though it is 
attested by his friend Dr. Osterdyke, of whom it cannot 
be reasonably suspected that he is himself deceived, or 
that he can desire to deceive others, it must be allowed 
far to exceed the limits of probability, if it be considered 
with regard to the methods of education practised in our 
country, where it is not uncommon for the highest genius, 
and most comprehensive capacity, to be entangled for 
ten years in those thorny paths of literature, which Bur- 
man is represented to have passed in less than two; and 
we must doubtless confess the most skilful of our mas- 
ters much excelled by the address of the Dutch teachers, 
or the abilities of our greatest scholars far surpassed by 
those of Burman. 

But, to reduce this narrative to credibility, it is neces- 
sary that admiration should give place to enquiry, and 
that it be discovered what proficiency in literature is 
expected from a student requesting to be admitted into 
a Dutch university. It is to be observed that in the uni- 
versities of foreign countries, they have professors of phi- 
lology, or humanity, whose employment is to instruct 
the younger classes in grammar, rhetorick, and lan- 
guages; nor do they engage in the study of philosophy, 
till they have passed through a course of philological 
lectures and exercises, to which, in some places, two 
years are commonly allotted. 

The English scheme of education, which with regard 
to academical studies is more rigorous, and sets literary 
honours at a higher price than that of any other country, 
exacts from the youth, who are initiated in our colleges, 
a degree of philological knowledge sufficient to qualify 
them for lectures in philosophy, which are read to them 
in Latin, and to enable them to proceed in other studies 
without assistance; so that it may be conjectured that 
Burman, at his entrance into the university, had no such 



144. BURMAN, 

skill in languages, nor such ability of composition, as 
are frequently to be met with in the higher classes of an 
English school; nor was perhaps more than moderately 
skilled in Latin, and taught the first rudiments of Greek. 

In the university he was committed to the care of the 
learned Graevius, whose regard for his father inclined 
him to superintend his studies with more than common 
attention, which was soon confirmed and increased by his 
discoveries of the genius of his pupil, and his observation 
of his diligence. 

One of the qualities which contributed eminently to 
qualify Graevius for an instructor of youth, was the 
S;agacity by which he readily discovered the predominant 
feculty of each pupil, and the peculiar designation by 
which nature had allotted him to any species of litera- 
ture; and by which he was soon able to determine, that 
Burman was remarkably adapted to classical studies, and 
predict the great advances that he would make, by in- 
dustriously pursuing the direction of his genius. 

Animated by the encouragement of a tutor so celebra- 
ted, he continued the vigour of his application, and for 
several years, not only attended the lectures of Graevius, 
but made use of every other opportunity of improvement, 
with such diligence as might justly be expected to pro- 
duce an uncommon proficiency. 

Having thus attained a sufficient degree of classical 
knowledge, to qualify him for inquiries into other sci- 
ences, he applied himself to the study of the law, and pub- 
lished a dissertation, "de Vicesima Haereditatum," which 
he publickly defended, under the professor Van Muyden, 
with such learning and eloquence as procured him great 
applause. 

Imagining, then, that the conversation of other men 
of learning might be of use towards his further improve- 
ment, and rightly judging that notions formed in any 
single seminary are for the greatest part contracted and 



BURMAN. 146 

partial; he went to Leyden, where he suclied philosophy 
for a year, wider M. de Voider, whose celebrity was so 
great, that the schools assigned to the sciences, which it 
was his province to teach, were not sufficient, though 
very spacious, to contain the audience that crowded his 
lectures from all parts of Europe. 

Yet he did not suffer himself to be engrossed by phi- 
losophical disquisitions, to the neglect of those studies in 
which he was more early engaged, and to which he was 
perhaps by nature better adapted; for he attended at the 
same time Ryckius's explanations of Tacitus, and James 
Gronovius's lectures on the Greek writers, and has often 
been heard to acknowledge, at an advanced age, the assis- 
tance which he received from them. 

Having thus passed a year at Leyden with great ad- 
vantage, he returned to Utrecht, and once more applied 
himself to philological studies, by the assistance of Grae- 
vius, whose early hopes of his genius were now raised 
to a full confidence of that excellence at which he after- 
wards arrived. 

At Utrecht, in March, 1688, in the twentieth year of 
his age, he was advanced to the degree of doctor of laws; 
on which occasion he published a learned dissertation, 
"de Transactionibus," and defended it with his usual 
eloquence, learning, and success. 

The attainment of this honour was far from having 
upon Burman that effect which has been too often ob- 
served to be produced in others, who, having in their 
own opinion no higher object of ambition, have elapsed 
into idleness and security, and spent the rest of their 
lives in a lazy enjoyment of their academical dignities. 
Burman aspired to further improvements, and, not satis- 
fied with the opportunities of literary conversation which 
Utrecht afforded, travelled into Switzerland and Ger- 
many, where he gained an increase both of fame and 
learning. 

Vol. XII. G 



U6 BURMAN. 

At his return from this excursion, he engaged in the 
practice of the law, and pleaded several causes with such 
reputation as might be hoped by a man who had joined 
to his knowledge of the law the embellishments of polite 
literature, and the strict ratiocination of true philo- 
sophy, and who was able to employ on every occasion 
the graces of eloquence and the power of argumenta- 
tion. 

While Burman was hastening to high reputation in the 
courts of justice, and to those riches and honours which 
always follow it, he was summoned, 1691, by the magis- 
trates of Utrecht, to undertake the charge of collector of 
the tenths, an office in that place of great honour, and 
which he accepted therefore as a proof of their confidence 
and esteem. 

While he was engaged in this employment he mar- 
ried Eve Clotterboke, a young lady of a good family, and 
uncommon genius and beauty, by whom he had ten 
children, of which eight died young; and only two sons, 
Francis and Casper, lived to console their mother for their 
father's death. 

Neither publick business, nor domestick cares, detain- 
ed Burman from the prosecution of his literary enqui- 
ries; by which he so much endeared himself to Graevius, 
that he was recommended by him to the regard of the 
university of Utrecht; and accordingly, in 1696, was 
chosen professor of eloquence and history, to which was 
added, after some time, the professorship of the Greek 
language, and afterwards that of politicks; so various 
did they conceive his abilities, and so extensive his 
knowledge. 

At his entrance upon this new province, he pronounc- 
ed an oration upon eloquence and poetry. 

Having now more frequent opportunities of displaying 
his learning, he arose, in a short time, to a high reputa- 
tion, of which the great number of his auditors was a 



BURMAN. 147 

sufficient proof, and which the proficiency of his pupils 
aliewed not to be accidental or undeserved. 

In 1714 he formed a resolution of visiting Paris, not 
only for the sake of conferring in person upon questions 
of literature with the learned men of that place, and of 
gratifying his curiosity with a more familiar knowledge 
of those writers whose works he admired, but with a view 
more important, of visiting the libraries, and making those 
enquiries which might be of advantage to his darling 
study. 

The vacation of the university allowed him to stay at 
Paris but six weeks, which he employed with so much 
dexterity and industry that he had searched the princi- 
pal libraries, collated a great number of manuscripts and 
printed copies, and brought back a great treasure of cu- 
rious observations. 

In this visit to Paris he contracted an acquaintance, 
among other learned men, with the celebrated father 
Montfaucon; with whom he conversed, at his first inter- 
view, with no other character but that of a traveller; but| 
their discourse turning upon ancient learning, the stran- 
ger soon gave such proofs of his attainments, that 
Montfaucon declared him a very uncommon traveller, 
and confessed his curiosity to know his name; which he 
no sooner heard, than he rose from his seat and, embrac- 
ing him with the utmost ardour, expressed his satisfac- 
tion at having seen the man whose productions of various 
kinds he had so often praised; and, as a real proof of his 
regard, offered not only to procure him an immediate 
admission to all the libraries of Paris, but to tiiose in re^ 
moter provinces, which are not generally open to stran- 
gers, and undertook to ease the expences of his journey 
by procuring him entertainment in all the monasteries of 
his order. 

This favour Burman was hindered from accepting, 
by the necessity of returning to Utrecht at the usual 



148 BURMAN. 

time of beginning a new course of lectures, to which 
there was always so great a concourse of students, as 
much increased the dignity and fame of the university 
in which he taught. 

He had already extended to distant parts his reputa- 
tion for knowledge of ancient history, by a treatise " do 
Vectigalibus Populi Romani," on the revenues of the 
Romans; and for his skill in Greek learning, and in 
ancient coins, by a tract called " Jupiter Fulgurator;" 
and after his return from Paris he published " Phse- 
drus," first with the notes of various commentators, and 
afterwards with his own. He printed many poems, made 
many orations upon different subjects, and procured an 
impression of the epistles of Gudius and Sanavius. 

While he was thus employed, the professorships of 
history, eloquence, and the Greek language, became va- 
cant at Leyden, by the death of Perizonius, which Bur- 
man's reputation incited the curators of the university 
to offer him upon very generous terms, and which, after 
some struggles with his fondness for his native place, 
his friends, and his colleagues, he was prevailed on to 
accept, finding the solicitation from Leyden warm and 
urgent, and his friends at Utrecht, though unwilling to 
be deprived of him, yet not zealous enough for the hon- 
our and advantage of their university, to endeavour to 
detain him by great liberality. 

At his entrance upon this new professorship, which 
was conferred upon him in 1715, he pronounced an ora- 
tion upon the duty and office of a professor of polite lite* 
rature; " De publici humanioris Disciplinae professoris 
proprio officio et munere;'* and shewed, by the useful- 
ness and perspicuity of his lectures, that he was not con- 
fined to speculative notions on that subject, having a 
very happy method of accommodating his instructions 
to the different abilities and attainments of his pupils. 

Nor did he suffer the publick duties of this station to 
hinder him from promoting learning by labours of a dif- 



BURMAN. 149 

lerent kind; for, besides many poems and orations which 
he recited on different occasions, he wrote several pre- 
faces to the works of others, and published many useful 
editions of the best Latin writers, with large collections 
of notes from various commentators. 

He was twice rector, or chief governor, of the uni- 
versity, and discharged that important office with equal 
equity and ability; and gained by his conduct in every 
station so much esteem, that when the professorship of 
history of the United Provinces became vacant, it was 
conferred on him as an addition to his honours and reve- 
nues which he might justly claim; and afterv;ards, as 
a proof of the continuance of their regard, and a testi- 
mony that his reputation was still increasing, they made 
him chief librarian, an office which was the more ac 
ceptable to him, as it united his business with his plea- 
sure, and gave him an opportunity at the same time 
of superintending the library, and carrying on his stu- 
dies. 

Such was the course of his life, till, in his old age; 
leaving off his practice of walking and other exercises^ 
he began to be afflicted with the scurvy, which discovered 
itself by very tormenting symptoms of various kinds; 
sometimes disturbing his head with vertigoes, sometimes 
causing faintness in his limbs, and sometimes attacking 
his legs with anguish so excruciating, that all his vigour 
was destroyed, and the power of walking entirely taken 
away, till at length his left foot became motionless. The 
violence of his pain produced irregular fevers, deprived 
him of rest, and entirely debilitated his whole frame. 

This tormenting disease he bore, though not without 
some degree of impatience, yet without any unbecoming 
or irrational despondency: and applied himself in the in- 
termission of his pains to seek for comfort in the duties 
of religion. 

While he lay in this state of misery he received an a^- 



150 BURMAN. 

t:ount of the promotion of two of his grandsons, and a ca- 
talogue of the king of P>ance's library, presented to him 
by the command of the king himself, and expressed some 
satisfaction on all these occasions; but soon diverted his 
thoughts to the more important consideration of his eter- 
nal state, into which he passed on the 31st of March 1741, 
in the 73d year of his age. 

He was a man of moderate stature, of great strength 
and activity, which he preserved by temperate diet, with- 
out medical exactness, and by allotting proportions of his 
time to relaxation and amusement, not suffering his stu- 
dies to exhaust his strength, but relieving them by fre- 
quent intermissions; a practice consistent with the most 
exemplary diligence, and which he that omits will find, 
at last, that time may be lost, like money, by unseason- 
able avarice. 

In his hours of relaxation he was gay, and sometimes 
gave way so far to his temper, naturally satirical, that he 
drew upon himself the ill-will of those who had been un- 
fortunately the subjects of his mirth; but enemies so pro- 
voked he thought it beneath him to regard or to pacify; 
for he was fiery, but not malicious, disdained dissimula- 
tion, and in his gay or serious hours preserved a settled 
detestation of falsehood. So that he was an open and un- 
disguised friend or enemy, entirely unacquainted with the 
artifices of flatterers, but so judicious in the choice of 
friends, and so constant in his affection to them, that 
those with whom he had contracted familiarity in his 
youth, had for the greatest part his confidence in his old 
age. 

His abilities, which would probably have enabled him 
to have excelled in any kind of learning, were chiefly em- 
ployed, as his station required, on polite literature, in 
vVl^ich he arrived at very uncommon knowledge, which, 
however, appears rather from judicious compilations than 
original productions. His style is lively and masculine, 



BUR MAN. 15 1 

but not without harshness and constraint, nor, perhaps, 
always polished to that purity which some writers have 
attained. He was at least instrumental to the instruction 
of mankind, by the publication of many valuable perfor- 
mances, which lay neglected by the greatest part of the 
learned world; and, if reputation be estimated by useful- 
ness, he may claim a higher degree in the ranks of learn- 
ing than some others of happier elocution, or more vigor- 
ous imagination. 

The malice or suspicion of those who either did not 
know, or did not love him, had given rise to some doubts 
about his religion, which he took an opportunity of re- 
moving on his death-bed by a voluntary declaration of 
his faith, his hope of everlasting salvation from the re- 
vealed promises of God, and his confidence in the merits 
of our Redeemer; of the sincerity of which declaration 
his whole behaviour in his long illness was an incontesta- 
ble proof; and he concluded his liie, which had been il- 
lustrious for many virtues, by exhibiting an example of 
true piety. 

Of his works we have not been able to procure a com- 
plete catalogue: he published, 

" Quintilianus," 2 volo. 4to. J 

« Valerius Flaccus." f Cum notis 

*' Ovidius," 3 vols. 4to. i variorum. 

"Poetae Latini Minores," 2 vols. 4to.) 

•' Buchanani Opera.*' 2 vols. 4to. 



SYDENHAM.* 



Thomas Sydenham was bom in the year 1624, 
at Winford Eagle in Dorsetshire, where his father, Wil- 
liam Sydenham, Esq. had a large fortune. Under whose 
care he was educated, or in what manner he passed his 
cTiildhood, whether he made any early discoveries of a 
genius peculiarly adapted to the study of nature, or gave 
any presages of his future eminence in medicine, no in- 
formation is to be obtained; we must therefore repress 
that curiosity which would naturally incline us to watch 
the first attempts of so vigorous a mind, to pursue it in 
its childish enquiries, and see it struggling with rustifck 
prejudices, breaking on trifling occasions the shackles 
of credulity, and giving proofs in its casual excursions, 
that it was formed to shake off the yoke of prescription, 
and dispel the phantoms of hypothesis. 

That the strength of Sydenham's understanding, the 
accuracy of his discernment, and ardour of his xuriosity, 
might have been remarked from his infancy by a diligent 
observer, there is no reason to doubt. For there is no in- 
stance of any man, whose history has been minutely re- 
lated, that did not in every part of life discover the same 

* Originally prefixed to the New Translation of Dr. Syden- 
ham's Works, by John Swan, M. D. of New-castle in Stafford- 

hhive, 1742. H, 



SYDENHAM. 153 

proportion of intellectual vigour; but it has been the lot 
of the greatest part of those who have excelled in science, 
to be known only by their own writings, and to have left 
behind them no remembrance of their domestick life, or 
private transactions, or only such memorials of particular 
passages as are, on certain occasions, necessarily record- 
ed in publick registers. 

From these it is discovered, that at the age of eighteen, 
in 1642, he commenced a commoner of Magdalen-Hall 
in Oxford, where it isnot probable thathe continued long; 
for he informs us himself, that he was withheld from 
the university by the commencement of the war; nor is 
it known in what state of life he engaged, or where he 
resided during that long series of publick commotion. It 
is indeed reported that he had a commission in the king's 
army, but no particular account is given of his military 
conduct; nor are we told what rank he obtained when he 
entered into the army, or when, or on what occasion, he 
retired from it. 

It is, however, certain, that if ever he took upon him 
the profession of arms, he spent but few years in the 
camp; for in 1648 he obtained at Oxford the degree of 
bachelor of physick, for which as some medicinal know- 
ledge is necessary, it may be imagined that he spent 
some time in qualifying himself. 

His application to the study of physick was as he him- 
self relates, produced by an accidental acquaintance witJi 
Dr. Cox, a physician eminent at that time in London, 
who in some sickness prescribed to his brother, and, 
attending him frequently on that occasion, enquired of 
him what profession he designed to follow. The young 
man answering that he was undetermined, the Doctor 
recommended physick to him, on what account, or with 
what arguments, it is not related; but his persuasions 
were so effectualj that Sydenham determined to follow 

G2 



154 SYDENHAM. 

his advice, and retired to Oxford for leisure and oppoi'^ 
tunity to pursue his studies. 

It is evident that this conversation must have happen- 
ed before his promotion to any degree in physick, because 
he himself fixes it in the interval of his absence from the 
miiversity, a circumstance which will enable us to confute 
many false reports relating to Dr. Sydenham, which have 
been confidently inculcated, and implicitly believed. 

It is the general opinion that he was made a physician 
"by accident and necessity, and Sir Richard Blackmore 
reports in plain terms \_Preface to his Treatise on the 
Small-Pox^'] that he engaged in practice without any 
preparatory study, or previous knowledge, of the medi- 
cinal sciences; and affirms, that, when he was consulted 
by him what books he should read to qualify him for the 
same profession, he recommended Don Quixote. 

That he recommended Don Quixote to Blackmore, w^ 
are not allowed to doubt; but the relater is hindered by 
that self-love which dazzles all mankind from discover- 
ing that he might intend a satire very different from a 
general censure of all the ancient and modern writers on 
medicine, since he might perhaps mean,fiither seriously 
or in jest, to insinuate that Blackmore was not adapted by 
nature to the study of physick, and that, whether he should 
read Cervantes or Hippocrates, he would be equally 
unqualified for practice, and equally unsuccessful in it. 

Whatsoever was his meaning, nothing is more evident;, 
than that it was a transient sally of an imagination warm- 
ed with gaiety, or the negligent effusion of a mind in«» 
tent upon some other employment, and in haste to dismiss 
a troublesome intruder; for it is certain that Sydenham 
did not think it impossible to write usefully on medicine) 
because he has himself written upon it; and it is not proba- 
ble that he carried his vanity so far, as to imagine that 
t\o man had ever acquired the same qualifications besides 
himself. He could not but know that he rather restored 
ban invented mtost of his grinciplej*, and therefore rould 



SYDENHAM. l5S 

not but acknowledge the value of those writers whose 
doctrines he adopted and enforced. 

That he engaged in the practice of physick without any 
acquaintance with the theory, or knowledge of the opini- 
ons or precepts of fornier writers, is undoubtedly false; 
for he declares, that after he had, in pursuance of his 
conversation with Dr. Cox, determined upon the profes- 
sion of physick, he ajifilied himnelf in earnest to it, and 
s/ient several years in the university ["aliquot annos in 
acadeniica palaestra,] before he began to practise in 
London. 

Nor was he satisfied with the opportunities of know* 
ledge which Oxford afforded, but travelled to Montpelier, 
as Default relates [" Dissertation on Consumptions,"] in 
quest of further information; Montpelier being at that 
time the most celebrated school of physick: so far was 
Sydenham from any contempt of academical institutions, 
and so far from thinking it reasonable to learn physick 
by experiments alone, which must necessarily be made 
at the hazard of life. 

What can be demanded beyond this by the most zea- 
lous advocate for regular education? What can be ex- 
pected from the most cautious and most industrious 
student, than that he should dedicate several years to the 
rudiments of his art, and travel for further instructions 
from one university to another? 

It is likewise a common opinion, that Sydenham was 
thirty years old before he formed his resolution of study- 
ing physick, for which I can discover no other foundation 
than one expression in his dedication to Dr. Mapletoft, 
which seems to have given rise to it by a gross misinter- 
pretation; for he only observes, that from his conversa- 
tion with Dr. Cox to the publication of that treatise thirty 
years had intervened. 

Whatever may have produced this notion, or how long 
?oever it- may have prevailed, it is now proved beyond 



156 SYDENHAM. 

controversy to be false, since it appears that Sydenham, 
having been for some time absent from the university, 
returned to it in order to pursue his physical enquiries 
before he was twenty-four years old; for in 1648 he was 
admitted to the degree of bachelor of physick. 

That such reports should be confidently spread, even 
among the contemporaries of the author to whom they 
relate, and obtain in a few years such credit as to require 
a regular confutation; that it should be imagined that the 
greatest physician of the age arrived at so high a degree 
of skill, without any assistance from his predecessors; 
and that a man eminent for integrity practised medicine 
by chance, and grew wise only by murder; is not to be 
considered without astonishment. 

But if it be, on the other part, remembered, how much 
this opinion favours the laziness of some, and the pride 
of others; how readily some men confide in natural saga- 
city, and how willingly most would spare themselves the 
labour of accurate reading and tedious enquiry; it will 
be easily discovered how much the interest of multitudes 
was engaged in the production and continuance of this 
opinion, and how cheaply those of whom it was known 
that they practised physick before they studied it, might 
satisfy themselves and others with the example of the 
illustrious Sydenham. 

It is therefore in an uncommon degree useful to pub- 
lish a true account of this memorable man, that pride, 
temerity, and idleness, may be deprived of that patronage 
which they have enjoyed too long; that life may be se- 
cured from the dangerous experiments of the ignorant 
and presumptuous; and that those who shall hereafter 
assume the important province of superintending the 
health of others, may learn from this great master of the 
art, that the only means of arriving at eminence and 
success, are labour and study. 

From these false reports it is probable that another 



SYDENHAM. 157 

arose, to which, though it cannot be with equal certainty 
confuted, it does not appear that entire credit ought to 
be given. The acquisition of a Latin style did not seem 
consistent with the manner of life imputed to himj nor 
was it probable, that he, who had so diligently cultiva- 
ted the ornamental parts of general literature, would 
have neglected the essential studies of his own profession. 
Those therefore who were determined, at whatever price, 
to retain him in their own party, and represent him 
equally ignorant and daring with themselves, denied him 
the credit of writing his own works in the language in 
which they were published, and asserted, but without 
proof, that they were composed by him in English, and 
translated into Latin by Dr. Mapletoft. 

Whether Dr. Mapletoft lived and was familiar with 
him during the whole time in which these several trea- 
tises were printed, treatises written on particular occa- 
sions, and printed at periods considerably distant from 
each other, we have had no opportunity of enquiring, and 
therefore cannot demonstrate the falsehood of this report: 
but if it be considered how unlikely it is that any man 
should engage in a work so laborious and so little neces- 
sary, only to advance the reputation of another, or that 
he should have leisure to continue the same office upon 
all following occasions; if it be remembered how seldom 
such literary combinations are formed, and how soon 
they are for the greatest part dissolved; there will appear 
no reason for not allowing Dr. Sydenham the laurel of 
eloquence as well as physick.* 

* Since the foregoing was written, we have seen Mr. Ward's 
Lives of the Professors of Gresham College; who, in the life of 
Dr. Mapletoft, says, that in 1676 Dr. Sydenham published his 
Observationes tnedicx circa inorborwri acutorum historiam & cura- 
tionem, which he dedicated to Dr. Mapletoft, who at the desire 
of the author had translated them into Latin; and that the other 



15S SYDENHAM. 

It is observable that his Processus Integri^ published 
after his death, discovers alone more skill in the Latin 
language than is commonly ascribed to him; and it 
surely will not be suspected, that the officiousness of his 
friends was continued after his death, or that he procured 
the book to be translated only that, by leaving it behind 
him, he might secure his claim to his other writings. 

It is asserted by Sir Hans Sloane, that Ur. Sydenham^ 
with whom he was familiarly acquainted, was particu- 
larly versed in the writings of the great Roman orator 
and philosopher; andthcre is evidently such a luxuriance 
in his style, as may discover the author which gave him 
most pleasure, and most engaged his imitation. 

About. the same time that he became bachelor of phy- 
sick, he obtained, by the interest of a relation, a fellow- 
ship of All Souls college, having submitted by the sub- 
scription required to the authority of the visiters appoint- 
ed by the parliament, upon what principles, or how con- 
sistently with his former conduct, it is now impossible to 
discover. 

When he thought himself qualified for practice, he 
fixed his residence in Westminster, became doctor of 
physickat Cambridge, received a licence from the college 
of physicians, and lived in the first degree of reputation, 
and the greatest affluence of practice, for many year^j 
without any other enemies than those which he raised 
by the superior merit of his conduct, the brighter lustre 
of his abilities, or his improvements of his science, and 
his contempt of pernicious methods supported only by 
authority, in opposition to sound reason and indubitable 

pieces of that excellent physician were translated into that lan- 
guage by Mr. Gilbert Havers of Trinity College, Cambridg-e, a 
student in physick and friend of Dr. Mapletoft. But as Mr. Ward„. 
like others, neglects to bring any proof of his assertion, the 
i^uestion cannot fairly be decided by his .-authority. Orig. Bdtf* 



SYDENHAM. 15^; 

experience. These men are indebted to him for conceal- 
ing their names, when he records their malice, since 
they have thereby escaped the contempt and detestation 
of posterity. 

It is a melancholy reflection, that they who have ob- 
tained the highest reputation, by preserving or restoring 
the health of others, have often been hurried away be- 
fore the natural decline of life, or have passed many 
of their years under the torments of those distempers 
which they profess to relieve. In this number was Sy- 
denham, whose health began to fail in the 5 2d year of 
his age, by the frequent attacks of the gout, to which he 
was subject for a great part of his life, and which was 
afterwards accompanied with the stone in the kidneys^; 
and, its natural consequence, bloody-urine. 

These were distempers which even the art of Syden- 
ham could only palliate, without hope of a perfect cure, 
but which, if he has not been able by his precepts to in- 
struct us to remove, he has, at least, by his example^ 
taught us to bear; for he never betrayed any indecent im- 
patience, or unmanly dejection, under his torments; but 
supported himself by the reflections of philosophy, and 
the consolations of religion, and in every interval of ease 
applied himself to the assistance of others with his usual 
assiduity. 

After a life thus usefully employed he died at his 
house in Pall-mall, on the 29th of December 1689, and 
was buried in the aisle, near the south door of the 
church of St. James in Westminster. 

What was his character as a physician, appears from 
the treatises which he has left, which it is not necessary to 
epitomise or transcribe; and from them it may likewise 
be collected, that his skill in physick was not his highest 
excellence; that his whole character was amiable; that 
his chief view was the benefit of mankind, and the chief 
Tnotive of his actions the will of God, whom he mentions 



160 SYDENHAM. 

with reverence well becoming the most enlightened and 
most penetrating mind. He was benevolent, candid, and 
communicative, sincere, and religious; qualities, which 
it were happy if they could copy from him who emulate 
his knowledge, and imitate his methods. 



* 



CHEYNEL. 



1 HERE is always this advantage in contending with 
illubtrious adversaries, that the combatant is equally im- 
mortalized by conquest or defeat. He that dies by the 
sword of a hero will always be mentioned when the acts 
qf his enemy are mentioned. The man, of whose life the 
following account is offered to the publick, was indeed 
eminent among his own party, and had qualities, which, 
employed in a good cause, would have given him some 
claim to distinction; but no one is now so much blinded 
with bigotry, as to imagine him equal either to Ham- 
mond orChillingworth; nor would his memory, perhaps, 
have been preserved, had he not, by being conjoined with 
illustrious names, become the object of publick curiosity. 
FiiANCis Cheynel was born in 1608 at Oxford,t 
where his father Dr. John Cheynel, who had been fellow 
of Corpus Christi college, practised phy sick with great re- 
putation. He was educated in one ot the grammar schools 
of his native city, and in the beginning of the year 1625 
became a member of the university. 

It is probable that he lost his father when he was very 
young; for it appears, that before 1629 his mother had 
married Dr. Abbot, bishop of Salisbury, whom she had 

* First printed in The Student, 1751. H. 
t Vide Wood's Ath, Ox. Oiig-. Edil. 



162 CHEYNEL. 

likewise buried. From this marriage he received great 
advantage; for his mother being now allied to Dr. Brent, 
then warden of Merton college, exerted her interest so 
rigorously, that he was admitted there a probationer, and 
afterwards obtained a fellowship.* 

Having taken the degree of master of arts, he was ad- 
mitted to orders according to the rites of the church ot 
England, and held a curacy near Oxford, together with 
his feliow^ship. He continued in his college till he was 
qualified by his years of residence for the degree of 
bachelor of divinity, which he attempted to take in 1611, 
but was denied his grace,! for disputing concerning pre- 
destination, contrary to the king's injunctions. 

This refusal of his degree he mentions in his dedica- 
tion to his account of Mr. Chillingworth: " Do not con- 
ceive that I snatch up my pen in an angry mood, that I 
might vent my dangerous wit, and ease my overburdened 
spleen; no, no, I have almost forgotten the visitation of 
Merton college, and the denial of my grace, the plun- 
dering of my house, and little library: I know when and 
where, and of whom, to demand sat sfaction for all these 
injuries and indignities. I have learnt centum plazas 
Sjuirtana nobilitate concoqucre. I have not learnt how to 
plunder others of goods, or living, and make myself 
amends by force of arms. 1 will not take a living which 
belonged to any civil, studious, learned delinquent; unless 
it be the much neglected commendam of some lordly 
prelate, condemned by the known laws of the land, and 
the highest court of the kingdom, for some offence of 
the first magnitude." 

It is observable, that he declares himself to have 
almost forgot his injuries and indignities, though he re- 
counts them with an appearance of acrimony, which is 
no proof that the impression is much weakened; and in- 

* Vide Wood's Athen. Ox. Orig. Edit. 
t Vide Wood's Hist. Univ. Ox. Orig. Edit. 



\ 



CHEYNEL. 1&3 

sinuates his design of demanding, at a proper time, satis- 
faction for them. 

These vexations were the consequence rather of the 
abuse of learning, than the want of it; no one that reads 
his works can doubt that he was turbulent, obstinate, 
and petulent, and ready to instruct his superiors, when 
he most needed instruction from them. Whatever he 
believed (and the warmth of his imagination naturally- 
made him precipitate in forming his opinions) he thought 
himself obliged to profess; and what he professed he was 
ready to defend, without that modesty which is always 
prudent, and generally necessary, and which though it 
was not agreeable to Mr. Cheyners temper, and there- 
fore readily condemned by him, is a very useful associate 
to truth, and often introduces her by degrees, where she 
never could have forced her way by argument or decla- 
mation. 

A temper of this kind is generally inconvenient and 
offensive in any society, but in a place of education is least 
to be tolerated; for, as authority is necessary to instruc- 
tion, whoever endeavours to destroy subordination, by 
weakening that reverence which is claimed by those to 
whom the guardianship of youth is committed by their 
country, defeats at once the institution; and may be justly 
driven from a society by which he thinks himself too 
wise to be governed, and in which he is too young to 
teach, and too opinionative to learn. 

This may be readily supposed to have been the case 
of Cheynel: and I know not how those can be blamed for 
censuring his conduct, or punishing his disobedience, 
who had a right to govern him, and who might certainly 
act with equal sincerity, and with greater knowledge. 

With regard to the visitation of Merton college, the 
account is equally obscure. Visiters are well known to 
be generally called to regulate the affairs of colleges, 
when the members disagree with their head, or one with 
another; and the temper that Dr. Cheynel discovers will 



164 CHEYNEL. 

easily incline his readers to suspect that he could not lon^- 
live in any place without finding some occasion for debate; 
nor debate any question without carrying his opposition to 
such a length as might make a moderator necessary. 
Whether this was his conduct at Merton, or whether ah 
appeal to the visiters' authority was made by him or his 
adversaries, or any other member of the college, is not 
to be known; it appears only that there was a visitation, 
that he suffered by it, and resented his punishment. 

He was afterwards presented to a living of great value 
near Banbury, where he had some dispute with Arch- 
bishop Laud. Of this dispute I have found no particular 
account. Calamy only says he had a ruffle with Bishop 
Laud, while at his height. 

Had Cheynel been equal to his adversary in greatness 
and learning, it had not been easy to have found either a 
more proper opposite; for they were both to the last 
degree zealous, active, and pertinacious, and would have 
afforded mankind a spectacle of resolution and boldne&s 
not often to be seen. But the amusement of beholding 
the struggle, would hardly have been without danger, 
as they were too fiery not to have communicated their 
heat, though it should have produced a conflagration of 
their country. 

About the year 1641, when the whole nation was en- 
gaged in the controversy about the rights of the church, 
and necessity of episcopacy, he declared himself a Pres- 
byterian, and an enemy to bishops, liturgies, ceremonies, 
and was considered as one of the most learned and acute 
of his party; for having spent much of his life in a col- 
lege, it cannot be doubted that he had a considerable 
knowledge of books, which the vehemence of his tem- 
per enabled him often to display, when a more timorous 
man would have been silent, though in learning not his 
inferior. 

When the war broke out, Mr. Cheynel, in consequence 
of his principles, declared himself fcr tiie Parliament; 



CHEYNEL. 165 

and as he appears to have held it as a first principle that 
all great and noble spirits abhor neutrality, there is. no 
doubt but that he exerted himself to gain proselytes, and 
to promote the interest of that party which he had 
thought it his duty to espouse. These endeavours were 
so much regarded by the Parliament, that, having taken 
the covenant, he was nominated one of the Assembly of 
Divines, who were to meet at Westminster for the settle- 
ment of the new discipline. 

This distinction drew necessarily upon him the hatred 
of the cavaliers; and his living being not far distant from 
the king's head-quarters, he received a visit from some of 
the troops, who, as he affirms, plundered his house, and 
drove him from it. His living, which was I suppose, con- 
sidered as forfeited by his absence (though he was not 
suffered to continue upon it) was given to a clergyman, of 
whom he says, that he would become a stage better than 
a pulpit; a censure which I can neither confute nor admit, 
because I have not discovered who was his successor. 
He then retired into Sussex, to exercise his ministry 
among his friends, in a place where, as he observes, 
there had been littleof the power of religion either known 
or practised. As no reason can be given why the inha- 
bitants of Sussex should have less knowledge or virtue 
than those of other places, it may be suspected that he 
means nothing more than a place where the Presbyterian 
discipline or principles had never been received. We 
now observe, that the Methodists, where they scatter 
their opinions, represent themselves as preaching the 
gospel to unconverted nations; and enthusiasts of all 
kinds have been inclined to disguise their particular 
tenets with pompous appellations, and to imagine them- 
selves the great instruments of salvation; yet it must be 
confessed that all places are not equally enlightened; that 
in the most civilized nations there are many corners 
which may be called barbarous, where neither politeness, 



166 . CHEYKEL. 

nor religion, nor the common arts of life, have yet been 
cultivated; and it is likewise certain, that the inhabitants 
of Sussex have been sometimes mentioned as remark- 
able for brutality. 

From Sussex he went often to London, where in 1643, 
he preached three times before the Parliament; and, re- 
turning in November to Colchester to keep the monthly 
fast there, as was his custom, he obtained a convoy of 
sixteen soldiers, whose bravery or good fortune was such 
that they faced and put to flight more than two hundred 
of the king's forces. 

In this journey he found Mr. Chillingworth in the 
hands of the Parliament's troops, of whose sickness and 
death he gave the account w^hich has been sufficiently 
made known to the learned world by Mr. Maizeaux, in 
his Life of Chillingworth. 

With regard to this relation it may be observed, that 
it is written with an air of fearless veracity, and with the 
spirit of a man who thinks his cause just, and his be- 
haviour without reproach; nor does there appear any 
reason for doubting that Cheynel spoke and acted as he 
relates; for he does not publish an apology, but a chal- 
lenge, and writes not so much to obviate calumnies, as 
to gain from others that applause which he seems to 
have bestowed very liberally upon himself for his be- 
haviour on that occasion. 

Since, therefore, this relation is credible, a great part 
of it being supported by evidence which cannot be re- 
futed, Mr. Maizeaux seems very justly, in his Life of 
Mr. Chillingworth, to oppose the common report that his 
life was shortened by the inhumanity of those to whom 
he was a prisoner; for Cheynel appears to have preserved, 
amidst all his detestation of the opinions which he im- 
puted to him, a great kindness to his person, and venera- 
tion for his capacity: nor does he appear to have been 
cruel to him, otherwise than by that incessant importu- 



CHEYNEL. 16/ 

nity of disputation, to which he was doubtless incited by 
a sincere belief of the danger of his soul, if he should die 
without renouncing some of his opinions. 

The same kindness which made him desirous to con- 
vert him before his death, would incline him to preserve 
him from dying before he was converted; and accordingly 
we find, that when the castle was yielded, he took care 
to procure him a commodious lodging: when he was to 
have been unseasonably removed, he attempted to shorten 
his journey, which he knew would be dangerous; when 
the physician was disgusted by ChiHingworth*s distrust, 
he prevailed upon him, as the symptoms grew more 
dangerous, to renew his visits; and when death left no 
other act of kindness to be practised, procured him the 
rites of burial, which some \vould have denied him. 

Having done thus far justice to the humanity of 
Cheynel, it is proper to enquire how far he deserves 
blame. He appears to have extended none of that kind- 
ness to the opinions of Chillingworth he shewed to his 
person; for he interprets every word in the worst sense, 
and seems industrious to discover in every line heresies, 
which might have escaped for ever any other apprehen- 
sion: he appears always suspicious of some latent malig- 
nity, and ready to persecute what he only suspects, with 
the same violence as if it had been openly avowed: in 
all his procedure he shews himself sincere, but without 
candour. 

About this time Cheynel, in pursuance of his natural 
ardour, attended the army under the command of the 
Earl of Essex, and added the praise of valour to that of 
learning; for he distinguished himself so much by his 
personal bravery, and obtained so much skill in the 
science of war, that his commands were obeyed by the 
colonels with as much respect as those of the general. 
He seems, indeed, to have been born a soldier; for he 
had an intrepidity which was never to be shaken by any 



16^ CHEYNEL. 

danger, and a spirit of enterprize not to be discouraged 
by difficulty, which were supported by an unusual degree 
of bodily strength. His services of all kinds were thought 
of so much importance by the Parliament, that they 
bestowed upon him the living of Petworth, in Sussex. 
This living was of the value of 700/. per annum^ from 
which they had ejected a man remarkable for his loyalty, 
and therefore, in their opinion, not worthy of such re- 
venues. And it may be enquired whether, in accepting 
this preferment, Cheynel did not violate the protestation 
which he makes in the passage already recited, and 
whether he did not suffer his resolutions to be overborne 
by the temptations of wealth. 

In 1646, when Oxford was taken by the forces of the 
Parliament, and the reformation of the university was 
resolved, Mr. Cheynel was sent, with six others, to pre- 
pare the way for a visitation; being authorized by the 
Parliament to preach in any of the churches, without 
regard to the right of the members of the university, that 
their doctrine might prepare their hearers for the 
changes which were intended. 

When they arrived at Oxford, they began to execute 
their commission, by possessing themselves of the pulpits; 
but, if the relation of Wood* is to be regarded, were 
heard with very little veneration. Those who had been 
accustomed to the preachers of Oxford, and the liturgy 
of the church of England, were offended at the emptiness 
of their discourses, which were noisy and unmeaning; 
at the unusual gestures, the wild distortions, and the 
uncouth tone with which they were delivered: at the 
coldness of their prayers for the king, and the vehemence 
and exuberance of those which they did not fail to utter 
for the blessed councils and actions of the Parliament and 

* Vide Wood's Hist. Antiq. Oxon. Orig. Edit. 



CHEYNEL. 169 

army; and , at, what was surely not to be remarked with- 
out indignation, their omission of the Lord's Prayer. 

But power easily supplied the want of reverence, and 
they proceeded in their plan of reformation; and thinking 
sermons not so efficacious to conversion as private inter- 
rogatories and exhortations, they established a weekly 
meeting for freeing tender consciences from scruple^ at a 
house that, from the business to which it was appropri- 
ated, was called the Scruple-shofi. 

With this project they were so well pleased, that they 
sent to the Parliament an account of it, which was after- 
wards 'printed, and is ascribed by Wood to Mr. Cheynel, 
They continued for some weeks to hold their meetings 
•regularly, and to admit great numbers, whom curiosity, 
or a desire of conviction, or a compliance with the pre- 
vailing party, brought thither. But their tranquillity was 
quickly disturbed by the turbulence of the Independents, 
whose opinions then prevailed among the soldiers, and 
were very industriously propagated by the discourses of 
William Earbury, a preacher of great reputation among 
them, who one day gathering a considerable number of 
his most zealous followers, went to the house appointed 
for the resolution of scruples, on a day which was set 
apart for the disquisition of the dignity and office of a 
minister, and began to dispute with great vehemence 
against the Presbyterians, whom he denied to have any 
true ministers among them, and whose assemblies he 
affirmed not to be the true church. He was opposed with 
equal heat by the Presbyterians, and at length they agreed 
to examine the point another day, in a regular disputa- 
tion. Accordingly they appointed the twelfth of Novem- 
ber for an enquiry, "whether, in the Christian church, 
the office of minister is committed to any particular 
persons?" 

On the day fixed, the antagonists appeared, each atten- 
ded by great numbers; but when the question was pro- 

VoL. XII. H 



170 CHEYNEL. 

posed, they began to wrangle, not about the doctrine 
which they had engaged to examine, but about the terms 
of the proposition, which the Independents alleged to 
be changed since their agreement; and at length the 
soldiers insisted that the question should be, " Whether 
those who call themselves ministers have more right or 
power to preach the gospel then any other man that is 
a Christian?" This question was debated for some time 
with great vehemence and confusion, but without any 
prospect of a conclusion. At length, one of the soldiers, 
who thought they had an equal right with the rest to 
engage in the controversy, demanded of the Presbyte- 
rians, whence they themselves received their orders, 
whether from bishops or any other persons? This unex- 
pected interrogatory put them to great difficulties; for it 
happened that they were all ordained by the bishops, 
which they durst not acknowledge, for fear of exposing 
themselves to a general censure, and being convicted 
from their own declarations, in which they had frequently 
condemned Episcopacy as contrary to Christianity; nor 
durst they deny it, because they might have been con- 
futed, and must at once have sunk into contempt. The 
soldiers, seeing their perplexity insulted them; and went 
away boasting of their victory: nor did the Presbyterians, 
for some time, recover spirit enough to renew their 
meetings, or to proceed in the work of easing con- 
sciences. 

Earbury, exulting at the victory, which not his own 
abilities, but the subtilty of the soldier had procured him, 
began to vent his notions of every kind without scruple, 
and at length asserted, that " the Saints had an equal 
measure of the divine nature with our Saviour, though 
not equally manifest.'* At the same time he took upon 
him the dignity of a prophet, and began to utter predic- 
tions relating to the affairs ot England and Ireland. 

His prophecies were not much regarded, but his doc- 



CHEYNEL. 171 

trine was censured by the Presbyterians in their pulpits; 
and Mr. Cheynel challenged him to a disputation, to 
which he agreed, and at his first appearance in St. Mary's 
church addressed his audience in the following manner: 

" Christian friends, kind fellow-soldiers, and worthy- 
students, I, the humble servant of all mankind, am this 
day drawn, against my will, out of my cell into this pub- 
lick assembly, by the double chain of accusation and a 
challenge from the pulpit. I have been charged with 
heresy; I have been challenged to come hither in a letter 
written by Mr. Francis Cheynel. Here then I stand in 
defence of myself and my doctrine, which I shall intro- 
duce with only this declaration, that I claim not the 
office of a minister on account of any outward call, 
though I formerly received ordinations; nor do I boast 
oi illuinination^ or the knowledge of our Saviour, though 
I have been held in esteem by others, and formerly by 
myself. For I now declare, that I know nothing, and am 
npthing, nor would I be thought of otherwise than as an 
enquirer and seeker." 

He then advanced his former position in stronger 
terms, and with additions equally detestable, which Chey- 
nel attacked with the vehemence which, in so warm a 
temper, such horrid assertions might naturally excite. 
The dispute, frequently interrupted by the clamours of 
the audience, and tumults raised to disconcert Cheynel, 
who was very unpopular, continued about four hours, 
and then both the controvertists grew weary, and retired. 
The Presbyterians afterwards thought they should more 
speedily put an end to the heresies of Earbury by power 
than by argument; and, by soliciting General Fairfax pro- 
cured his removal. 

Mr. Cheynel published an account of this dispute, 
under the title of " Faith triumphing over Error and 
Heresy, in a Revelation,** &c. nor can it be doubted bu* 



172 CHEYNEL. 

he had the victory, where his cause gave him so great 
superiority. 

Somewhat before this, his captious and petulant dispo- 
sition engaged him in a controversy, from which he 
could not expect to gain equal reputation. Dr. Hammond 
had not long befoi'e published his Practical Catechiaviy 
in which Mr Cheynel, according to his custom, found 
many errors implied, if not asserted; and therefore, as 
it was much read, thought it convenient to censure it in 
the pulpit. Of this Dr. Hammond being informed, de- 
sired him in a letter to communicate his objections; to 
which Mr. Cheynel returned an answer, written with 
his usual temper, and therefore somewhat perverse. 
The controversy was drawn out to a considerable length; 
and the papers on both sides were afterwards made pub- 
lick by Dr. Hammond. 

In 1647, it was determined by Parliament, that the re- 
formation of Oxford should be more vigorously carried 
on; and Mr. Cheynel was nominated one of the visiters. 
The general process of the visitation, the firmness and 
fidelity of the students, the address by which the enqui- 
ry was delayed, and the steadiness with which it was op- 
posed, which are very particularly related by Wood, 
and after him by Walker, it is not necessary to mention 
here, as they relate not more to Dr. Cheynel's life than 
those of his associates. 

There is indeed some reason to believe that he was 
more active and virulent than the rest, because he ap- 
pears to have been charged in a particular manner with 
some of their most unjustifiable measures. He was accu- 
sed of proposing that the members of the University 
should be denied the assistance of counsel, and was lam- 
pooned by name, as a madman, in a satire written on the 
visitation. 

One action, which shews the violence of his temper, 
and his disregard both of humanity and decency, when 



CHEYNEL. 173 

they came in competition with his passions, must not be 
forgotten. The visiters being offended at the obstinacy 
of Dr. Fell, dean of Christ-church, and vice-chancellor 
of the University, having first deprived him of his vice- 
chancellorship, determined afterwards to dispossess him 
of his deanery; and, in the course of their proceedings, 
thought it proper to seize upon his chambers in the col- 
lege. This was an act which most men would willingly 
have referred to the officers to whom the law assigned it; 
but Cheyners fury prompted him to a different conduct. 
He, and three more of the visiters, went and demanded 
admission; which, being steadily refused them, they ob- 
tained by the assistance of a file of soldiers, who forced 
the doors with pickaxes. Then entering, they saw Mrs. 
Fell in the lodgings, Dr. Fell being in prison at London, 
and ordered her to quit them, but found her not more 
obsequious than her husband. They repeated their orders 
with menaces, but were not able to prevail upon her to 
remove. They then retired, and left her exposed to the 
brutality of the soldiers, whom they commanded to keep 
possession, which Mrs. Fell however did not leave. 
About nine days afterwards she received another visit 
of the same kind from the new Chancellor, the Earl of 
Pembroke; who having, like the others, ordered her to 
depart without effect, treated her with reproachful lan- 
guage, and at last commanded the soldiers to take her 
up in her chair, and carry her out of doors. Her daugh- 
ters, and some other gentlewomen that were with her, 
were afterwards treated in the same manner; one of 
whom predicted, without dejection, that she should enter 
the house again with less difficulty at some other time; 
nor was she mistaken in her conjecture, for Dr. Fell 
lived to be restored to his deanery. 

At the reception of the Chancellor, Cheynel, as the 
most accomplished of the visiters, had the province of 
presenting him with the ensigns of his office, some of 



'# 



174 cheynb:l. 

ivhich were counterfeit, and addressing him with a pro- 
per oration. Of this speech, which Wood has preserved, 
I shall give some passages, by which a judgment may 
be made of his oratory. 

Of the staves of the beadles he observes, that 
'* some are stained with double guilt, that some are 
pale with fear, and that others have been made use 
of as crutches for the support of bad causes and despe* 
rate fortunes;" and he remarks of the book of statutes 
which he delivers, that " the ignorant may perhaps ad- 
mire the splendor of the cover, but the learned know 
that the real treasure is within." Of these two sentences 
it is easily discovered, that the first is forced and unnatural, 
and the second trivial and low. 

Soon afterwards Mr. Cheynel was admitted to the de- 
gree of Bachelor of Divinity, for which his grace had 
been denied him in 1641, and, as he then suifered for an 
ill-timed assertion of the Presbyterian doctrines, he ob- 
tained that his degree should be dated from the time 
at which he was refused it; an honour, which, however, did 
not secure him from being soon after publickly reproach- 
ed as a madman. 

But the vigour of Cheynel was thought by his com- 
panions to deserve profit as well as honour; and Dr. Bai- 
ley, the president of St. John's College, being not more 
obedient to the authority of the Parliament than the rest, 
was deprived of his revenues and authority, with which 
Mr. Cheynel was immediately invested; who, with his 
usual coolness and modesty, took possession of the lodg- 
ings soon after by breaking open the doors. 

This preferment being not thought adequate to the 
deserts or abilities of Mr. Cheynel, it was therefore desi- 
red, by the Committee of parliament, that the visiters 
would recommend him to the lectureship of divinity 
founded by the Lady Margaret. To recommend him and 
to choose was at that time the same; and he had now the 



CHEYNEL. 175 

pleasure of propagating hisdarling doctrine of predestina- 
tion, without interruption, and without danger. 

Being thus flushed with power and success, there is 
little reason for doubting that he gave way to his natural 
vehemence, and indulged himself in the utmost exces- 
ses of raging zeal, by which he was indeed so much dis- 
tinguished, that in a satire mentioned by Wood, he is 
dignified by the title of Arch-visiter; an appellation 
which he seems to have been industrious to deserve by 
severity and inflexibility: for, not contented with the 
commission which he and his colleagues had already re- 
ceived, he procured six or seven of the members of 
parliament to meet privately in Mr. Rouse's lodgings, 
and assume the style and authority of a committee, and 
from them obtained a more extensive and tyrannical 
power, by which the visiters were enabled to force the 
solemn League and Covenant and the negative Oath 
upon all the members of the University, and to prose- 
cute those for a contempt who did not appear to a cita- 
tion, at whatever distance they might be, and whatever 
reasons they might assign for their absence. 

By this method he easily drove great numbers from 
the University, whose places he supplied with men of 
his own opinion, whom he was very industrious to draw 
from other parts, with promises of making a liberal pro- 
vision for them out of the spoils of hereticks and malig- 
nants. 

Having in time almost extirpated those opinions which 
he found so prevalent at his arrival, or at least obliged 
those, who would not recant, to an appearance of conform- 
ity, he was at leisure for employments which deserve to 
be recorded with greater commendation. About this time, 
many Socinian writers began to publish their notions 
with great boldness, which the Presbyterians considering 
as heretical and impious, thought it necessary to confute; 
and therefore Cheynel, who had now obtained his doc- 



176 CHEYNEL. 

tor's degree, was desired, in 1649, to write a vindication 
of the doctrine of the Trinity, which he performed, and 
published the next year. 

He drew up likewise a confutation of some Socinian 
tenets advanced by John Fry; a man who spent great 
part of his life in ranging from one religion to another, 
and who sat as one of the judges on the king, but was 
expelled afterwards from the house of commons, and 
disabled from sitting in parliament. Dr. Cheynel is said 
to have shewn himself evidently superior to him in the 
controversy, and was answered by him only with an op- 
probrious book against the Presbyterian clergy. 

Of the remaining part of his hfe there is found only 
an obscure and confused account. He quitted the Presi- 
dentship of St. John's and the professorship, in 1650, as 
Calamy relates, because he would not take the engage- 
ment; and gave a proof that he could suffer as well as act 
in a cause which he believed just. We have indeed, no 
reason to question his resolution, whatever occasion 
might be given to exert it; nor is it probable that he 
feared affliction more than danger, or that he would not 
have borne persecution himself for those opinions which 
inclined him to persecute others. 

He did not suffer much upon this occasion; for he re- 
tained the living of Petworth, to which he thenceforward 
confined his labours, and where he was very assiduous, 
and as Calamy affirms, very successful in the exercise of 
his ministry, it being his pecuHar character to be warm 
and zealous in his undertakings. 

This heat of his disposition, increased by the uncom- 
mon turbulence of the times in which he lived, and by 
the opposition to which the unpopular nature* of some 
of his employments exposed him, was at last heightened 
to distraction, so that he was for some years disordered 
in his understanding, as both Wood and Calamy relate, 
but with such difference as might be expected from 



CHEYNEL. 177 

their opposite principles. Wood appears to think, that 
a tendency to madness was discoverable in a great part 
of his life; Calamy, that it was only transient and acciden- 
tal, though in his additions to his first narrative, he pleads 
it as an extenuation of that fury with which his kindest 
friends confess him to have acted on some occasions 
Wood declares, that he died little better than distracted; 
Calamy, that he was perfectly recovered to a sound mind 
before the Restoration, at which time he retired to Pres- 
ton, a small village in Sussex, being turned out of his 
living at Petworth. 

It does not appear that he kept his living till the ge- 
neral ejection of the Nonconformists; and it is not un- 
likely that the asperity of his carriage, and the known 
virulence of his temper, might have raised him enemies, 
who were willing to make hinri feel the effects of perse- 
cution which he had so furiously incited against others; 
but of this incident of his life there is no particular ac- 
count. 

After his deprivation, he lived (till his death, which 
happened in 1665) at a small village near Chichester, 
upon a paternal estate, not augmented by the large pre- 
ferments wasted upon him in the triumphs of his party; 
having been remarkable, throughout his life, for hospi- 
tality and contempt of money. 



H2 



CAVE.* 



XiDWARD CAVE was born at Newton in Warwick- 
shire, Feb. 29, 1691. His father (Joseph) was the young- 
er son of Mr. Edward Cave, of Cave's-in-the-hole, a 
lone-house, on the Street-road in. the same county, which 
took its name from the occupier; but having concurred 
with his elder brother in cutting off the intail of a small 
hereditary estate, by which act it was lost from the fa- 
mily, he was reduced to follow in Rugby the trade of a 
shoe-maker. He was a man of good reputation in his 
narrow circle, and remarkable for strength and rustick 
intrepidity. He lived to a great age, and was in his lattei' 
years supported by his son. 

It was fortunate for Edward Cave^ that, having a dis- 
position to literary attainments, he was not cut off by 
the poverty of his parents from opportunities of cultivat- 
ing his faculties. The school of Rugby, in which he 
had, by the rules of its foundation, a right to be instruct- 
ed, was then in high reputation, under the Rev. Mr. 
Holyock, to whose care most of the neighbouring fami- 
lies, even of the highest rank, entrusted their sons. He 
had judgment to discover, and, for some time, generosity 

* This life first appeared in the Gentleman's Magazine for 
1754, and is now printed from a copy revised by the author, at my 
request, in 1781. >?. 



CAVE. 179 

to encourage, the genius of young Cave; and was so well 
pleased with his quick progress in the school that he 
declared his resolution to breed him for the university, 
and recommended him as a servitor to some scholars of 
high rank. But prosperity which depends upon the ca- 
price of others is of short duration. Cave's superiority 
in literature exalted him to an invidious familiaritv with 
boys who were far above him in rank and expectations; 
and, as in unequal associations it always happens, what- 
ever unlucky prank was played was imputed to Cave. 
When any mischief, great or small, was done, though 
perhaps others boasted of the stratagem when it was suc- 
cessful, yet upon detection or miscarriage the fault was 
sure to fall upon poor C^ve. 

At last, his mistress by some invisible means lost a 
favourite cock. Cave was, with little examination, stig- 
matized as the thief or murderer; not because he was 
apparently more criminal than others, but because he was 
more easily reached by vindictive justice. From that 
time Mr. Holyock withdrew his kindness visibly from 
him, and treated him with harshness, which the crime 
in its utmost aggravation, could scarcely deserve; and 
which surely he would have forborne, had he considered 
how hardly the habitual influence of birth and fortune is 
resisted; and how frequently men, not wholly without 
sense of virtue, are betrayed to acts more atrocious than 
the robbery of a henroost, by a desire of pleasing their 
superiors. 

Those reflections his master never made, or made 
without effect; for nder pretence that Cave obstruct- 
ed the discipline of the school, by selling clandestine 
assistance, and supplying exercises to idlers, he was 
oppressed with unreasonable tasks, that there might be 
an opportunity of quarreling with his failure; and when 
his diligence had surmounted them, no regard was paid 
to the performance. Cave bore this persecution awhile, 



ISO CAVE. 

and then left the school, and the hope of a literary edu- 
cation, to seek some other means of gaining a livelihood. 
He was first placed with a collector of the excise. He 
used to recount with some pleasure a journey or two 
which he rode with him as his clerk, and relate the vic- 
tories that he gained over the exciseman in grammatical 
disputations. But the insolence of his mistress, who em- 
ployed him in servile drudgery, quickly disgusted him, 
and he went up to London in quest of more suitable em- 
ployment. 

He was recommended to a timber-merchant at the 
Bankside, and while he was there on liking, is said to 
have given hopes of great mercantile abilities; but this 
place he soon left, I know not for what reason, and was 
bound apprentice to Mr. Collins, a printer of some repu- 
tation, and deputy alderman. 

This was a trade for which men were formerly quali- 
fied by a literary education, and which was pleasing to 
Cave, because it furnished some employment for his 
«cholastick attainments. Here, therefore, he resolved to 
settle, though his master and mistress lived in perpetual 
discord, and their house was therefore no comfortable 
habitation. From the inconveniencies of these domestick 
tumults he was soon released, having in only two years 
attained so much skill in hii art, and gained so much 
the confidence of his master, that he was sent without 
any superiniendant to conduct a printing-office at Nor- 
wich, and publish a weekly paper. In this undertaking 
he met with some opposition, which produced a publick 
controversy, and procured young Cave the reputation of 
a writer. 

His master died before his apprenticeship was expired; 
and he was not able to bear the perverseness of his mis- 
tress. He therefore quitted her house upon a stipulated 
allowance, and married a young widow with whom he 
lived at Bow. When his apprenticeship was over, he 
^vorked as a journeyman at the priming bou»e of M^* 



CAVE. 181 

Barber, a man much distinguished and employed by the 
Tories, whose principles had at that time so much pre- 
valence with Cave, that he was for some years a writer 
in " Mist*s Journal;" which, though he afterwards ob- 
tained by his wife's interest a small place in the Post- 
office, he for some time continued. But as interest is 
powerful, and conversation, however mean, in time per- 
suasive, he by degrees inclined to another party; in 
which however, he was always moderate, though steady 
and determined. 

When he was admitted into the Post-office, he still 
continued, at his intervals of attendance, to exercise his 
trade, or to employ himself with some typographical 
business. He corrected the " Gradus ad Parnassum;" 
and was liberally rewarded by the company of Stationers. 
He wrote an " Account of the Criminals," which had 
for some time a considerable sale; and published many 
little pamphlets that accident brought into his hands, of 
which' it would be very difficult to recover the memory. 
By the correspondence which his place in the Post-office 
facilitated, he procured country news-papers, and sold 
their intelligence to a Journalist in London, for a guinea 
a week. 

He was afterwards raised to the office of clerk of the 
franks, in which he acted with great spirit and firmness; 
and often stopped franks, which were given by members 
of parliament to their friends, because he thought such 
extension of a peculiar right illegal. This raised many 
complaints; and having stopped among others, a frank 
given to the old dutchess of Marlbor^jugh by Mr. Walter 
Plummer, he was cited before the house as for a breach 
©f privilege, and accused, I suppose very unjgjsiiy, of 
opening letters to detect them. He was treated with 
great harshness and severity, but declining their ques- 
tions by pleading his oath of secrecy, was at last dismiss- 
ed. And it must be recorded to his honour, that, when 



182 CAVE. 

he was ejected from his office, he did not think hiitiself 
discharged from his trust, but continued to refuse to his 
nearest friends any information about the management 
of the office. 

By this constancy of diligence and diversification of 
employment, he in time collected a sum sufficient for 
the purchase of a small printing-office, and began the 
" Gentleman's Magazine," a periodical pamphlet, of 
which the scheme is known wherever the English lan- 
guage is spoken. To this undertaking he owed the afflu- 
ence in which he passed the last twenty years of his life; 
and the fortune which he left behind him, which, though 
large had yet been larger, had he not rashly and wan- 
tonly impaired it by innumerable projects, of which I 
know not that ever one succeeded. 

" The Gentleman's Magazine," which has now sub- 
sisted fifty years, and still continues to enjoy the favour 
of the world*, is one of the most successful and lucra- 
tive pamphlets which literary history has upon record, 
and therefore deserves, in this narrative, particular no- 
tice. 

Mr. Cave, when he formed the project, was far from 
expecting the success which he found; and others had 
so little prospect of its consequence, that though he had 
for several years talked of his plan among printers and 
booksellers, none of them thought it worth the trial. 
That they were not restrained by virtue from the exe- 
eution of another man's design, was sufficiently apparent 
as soon as that design began to be gainful; for in a few 
years a multitude of magazines arose and perished; only 
the London Magazine, supported by a powerful associa- 
tion of Booksellers, and circulated with all the art and 
all the cunning of trade, exempted itself from the gene-r 

* This was said in the beginning of the year 178Ij and may 
%Vith truth be repeated in 1806.- N. 



CAVE. 183 

ral fate of Cave's invaders, and obtained, though not an 
equal, yet a considerable sale.* 

Cave now began to aspire to popularity; and being a 
greater lover of poetry tlian any other art, he sometimes 
offered subjects for poems, and proposed prizes for the 
best performers. The first prize was 50/. for which, be- 
ing but newly acquainted with wealth, and thinking the 
influence of 50/. extremely great, he expected the first 
authors of the kingdom to appear as competitors; and 
offered the allotment of the prizes to the universities. 
But when the time came, no name was seen among the 
writers that had ever been seen before; the universities 
and several private men rejected the province of assign- 
ing the prize.t At all this Mr. Cave wondered for 
awhile; but his natural judgment, and a wider acquain- 
tance with the world, soon cured him of his astonish- 
ment, as of many other prejudices and errors. Nor have 
many men been seen raised by accident or industry to 
sudden riches, that retained less of the meanness of their 
former state. 

He continued to improve his Magazine, and had the 
satisfaction of seeing its success proportionate to his di- 
ligence, till, in 1751, his wife died of an asthma. He 
seemed not at first much affected by her death, but in a 
few days lost his sleep and his appetite, which he never 
recovered; but after having lingered about two years, 
with many vicissitudes of amendment and relapse, fell, 
by drinking acid liquors, into a diarrhoea, and afterwards 
into a kind of lethargick insensibility, in which one of 
the last acts of reason which he exerted was fondly to 
press the hand that is now writing this little narrative. 

* The London Magazine ceased to exist in 1785. N. 

f The determination was left to Dr. Cromwell, Mortimer, 
-and Dr. Birch; and by the latter the award was made, which 
may be seen in the Gentleman's Magazine, vol. VI. p. 59. N- 



1^4 CAVE. 

He died on the 10th of January 1754, having justconclU' 
ded the twenty-third annual collection. t 

t Mr. Cave was buried in the church of St. James, Clerken- 
well, without an epitaph; but the following inscription at Rug-by, 
from the pen of Dr. Hawkesworth, is here transcribed from the 
"Anecdotes of Mr. Bowyer," p. 88. 

•* Near this place lies 

The body of 

JOSEPH CAVE, 

late of this parish; 

Who departed this Life, Nov. 18, 1747, 

Aged 79 years. 

He was placed by Providence in an humble station!; 

But 

Industry abundantly supplied the wants of Nature 

And 

Temperance blessed him with 

Content and Wealth. 

As he was an affectionate Father, 

He was made happy in the Decline of life 

By the deserved eminence of his eldest Son 

EDWARD CAVE. 

Who without interest, fortune, or connexion, 

By the native force of his own genius. 

Assisted only by a classical education 

Which he received at the Grammar-school 

Of this Town, 

Planned, executed, and established 

A literary work, called 

THE 

GENTLEMAN'S MAGAZINE, 

Whereby he acquired an ample fortune, 

The v/hole of which devolved to his family. 

Here also lies 

The body of William Cave, 

Second Son of the said Joseph Cave, 

Who died May 2, 1757, aged 62 years; 

And who having survived his elder brother 

Edwapd Cave, 

Inherited from him a competent estate; 



CAVE. 185 

He was a man of large stature, hot only tall but bulky, 
and was, when young, of remarkable strength and acti- 
vity. He was generally healthful, and capable of much 
labour and long application; but in the latter years of 
his life was afflicted with the gout, which he endeavour- 
ed to cure or alleviate by a total abstinence both from 
strong liquors and animal food. From animal food he 
abstained about four years, and from strong liquors much 
longer; but the gout continued unconquered, perhaps 
unabated. 

His resolution and perseverance were very uncom- 
mon; in whatever he undertook, neither expence nor 
fatigue were able to repress him; but his constancy was 
calm, and to those who did not know him appeared faint 
and languid; but he always went forward, though he 
moved slowly. 

The same chillness of mind was observable in his 
conversation: he was watching the minutest accent of 
those whom he disgusted by seeming inattention; and 
his visitant was surprised when he came a second time, 
by preparations to execute the scheme which he sup- 
posed never to have been heard. 

He was, consistently with this general tranquillity of 
mind, a tenacious maintainer, though not a clamorous 
demander, of his right. In his youth, having summoned 
his fellow journeymen to concert measures against the 

And in gratitude to liis benefactor, 
Ordered this monument to perpetuate his memory. 

He liv'd a patriarch in his numerous race. 
And shew'd in charity a Christian's ,^race: 
Whate'er a friend or parent feels he knew; 
His hand was open, and his heart was true; 
In what he gain'd and gave, he taught mankind,, 
A grateful always is a generous mind. 
Here rest his clay! his soul must ever rest; 
Who blest when living, dying must be blest. N. 



186 CAVE. 

oppression of their masters, he mounted a kind of ros- 
trum, and haranj^ued them so efficaciously, that they de- 
termined to resist all future invasions; and when the 
stamp offices demanded to stamp the last half sheet of 
the magazines, Mr. Cave alone defeated their claim, to 
which the proprietors of the rival Magazines would 
meanly have submitted. 

He was a friend rather easy and constant, than zealous 
and active; yet many instances might be given where 
both his money and his diligence were employed liberally 
for others. His enmity was in like manner cool and de- 
liberate; but though cool, it was not insidious, and though 
deliberate, not pertinacious. 

His mental faculties were slow. He saw little at a 
time, but that little he saw with great exactness. He 
was long in finding the right, but seldom failed to find it 
at last. His affections were not easily gained, and his 
opinions not quickly discovered. His reserve, as it might 
hide his faults, concealed his virtues^ but such he was, 
as they who best knew him have most lamented. 



KING OF PRUSSIA.* 



Charles Frederick, the present king of Prus- 
sia, whose actions and designs now keep Europe in at- 
tention, is the eldest son of Frederick William, by So- 
phia Dorothea, daughter of George 4he First, king of 
England. He was born January 24, 1711-12. Of his early 
years nothing remarkable has been transmitted to us. 
As he advanced towards manhood, he became remarka- 
ble by his disagreement with his father. 

The late king of Prussia was of a disposition violent 
and arbitrary, of narrow views, and vehement passions, 
earnestly engaged in little pursuits, or in schemes ter- 
minating in some speedy consequence, without any plan 
of lasting advantage to himself or his subjects, or any 
prospect of distant events. He was therefore always 
busy though no effects of his activity ever appeared, and 
always eager though he had nothing to gain. His beha- 
viour was to the last degree rough and savage. The 
least provocation, whether designed or accidental, was 
returned by blows, which he did not always forbear to 
the queen and princesses. 

From such a king and such a father it was not any 
enormous violation of duty in the immediate heir of a 
kingdom sometimes to differ in opinion, and to maintain 

* First printed in the Literary Magazine for 1756. H, 



188 KING OF PRUSSIA. 

that difference with decent pertinacity. A prince of a 
quick sagacity and comprehensive knowledge must find 
many practices in the conduct of affairs which he could 
not approve, and some which he could scarcely forbear 
to oppose. 

The chief pride of the old king was to be master of 
the tallest regiment in Europe. He therefore brought 
together from all parts men above the common military 
standard. To exceed the height of six feet was a certain 
recommendation to notice, and to approach that of seven 
a claim to distinction. Men will readily go where they 
are sure to be caressed; and he had therefore such a col- 
lection of giants as perhaps was never seen in the world 
before. 

To review this towering regiment was his daily plea- 
sure; and to pei'petuate it was so much his care, that 
when he met a tall woman, he immediately commanded 
one of his Titanian reunue to marry her, that they 
might propagate procerity, and produce heirs to the fa- 
ther's habiliments. 

In all this there was apparent folly, but there was no 
crime. The tall regiment made a fine show at an ex- 
pence not much greater, when once it was collected, 
than would have been bestowed on common men. But 
the king's military pastimes were sometimes more per- 
nicious He maintained a numerous army, of which he 
made no other use than to review and talk of it; and 
when he, or perhaps his emissaries, saw a boy whose 
form and sprightliness promised a future soldier, he or- 
dered a kind of badge to be put about his neck, by which 
he was marked out for the service, like the sons of 
Christian- captives in Turkey; and his parents were for- 
bidden to destine him to anv other mode of life. 

This was sufficiently oppressive, but this was not the 
utmost of his tyranny. He had learned, though otherwise 
perhaps no very great politician, that to be rich was to 



KING OF PRUSSIA. 189 

be powerful; but that the riches of a king ought to be 
seen in the opulence of his subjects, he wanted either 
ability or benevolence to understand. He therefore 
raised exorbitant taxes from every kind of commodity 
and possession, and piled up the money in his treasury, 
from which it issued no more. How the land which 
had paid taxes once was to pay them a second time, how 
imposts could be levied without commerce, or com- 
merce continued without money, it was not his custom 
to enquire. Eager to snatch at money, and delighted to 
count it, he felt new joy at every receipt, and thought 
himself enriched by the impoverishment of his domi- 
nions. 

By which of these freaks of royalty the prince was of- 
fended, or whether, as perhaps more frequently happens, 
the offences of which he complained were of a domes- 
tick and personal kind, it is not easy to discover. But his 
resentment, whatever was its cause, rose so high, that 
he resolved not only to leave his father's court, but his 
territories, and to seek a refuge among the neighbouring 
or kindred princes. It is generally believed that his in- 
tention was to come to England, and live under the pro- 
tection of his uncle till his father's death or change of 
conduct should give him liberty to return. 

His design, whatever it was, he concerted with an 
officer in the army, whose name was Kat, a man in whom 
he placed great confidence, and whom, having chosen 
him for the companion of his flight, he necessarily trust- 
ed with the preparatory measures. A prince cannot 
leave his country with the speed of a meaner fugitive. 
Something was to be provided, and something to be ad- 
justed. And whether Kat found the agency of others 
necessary, and therefore was constrained to admit some 
partners of the secret; whether levity or vanity incited 
him to disburden himself of a trust that swelled in his 
bosom, or to shew to a friend or mistress his own im- 



190 KING OF PRUSSIA. 

portance; or whether it be in itself difficult for princes 
to transact any thing in secret; so it was, that the king 
was informed of the intended flight, and the prince and 
his favourite, a little before the time settled for their de- 
parture, were arrested, and confined in different places. 

The life of princes is seldom in danger; the hazard of 
their irregularities falls only on those whom ambition or 
affection combines with them. The king, after an im- 
prisonment of some time, set his son at liberty; but poor 
Kat was ordered to be tried for a capital crime. The 
court examined the cause, and acquitted him; the king 
remanded him to a second trial, and obliged his judges 
to condemn him. In consequence of the sentence thus 
tyrannically extorted, he was publickly beheaded, leav- 
ing behind him some papers of reflections made in the 
prison, which were afterwards printed, and among others 
an admonition to the prince, for whose sake he suffered, 
not to foster in himself the opinion of destiny, for that a 
Providence is discoverable in every thing round us. 

This cruel prosecution of a man who had committed 
no crime, but by compliance with influence not easily 
to be resisted, was not the only act by which the old 
king irritated his son. A lady with whom the prince was 
suspected of intimacy, perhaps more than virtue allowed, 
was seized, I know not upon what accusation, and, by the 
king's order, notwithstanding all the reason of decency 
and tenderness that operate in other countries, and other 
judicatures, was publickly whipped in the streets of 
Berlin. 

At last that the prince might feel the power of a king 
and a father in its utmost rigour, he was in 1733 mar- 
ried against his will to the princess Elizabeth Christina 
of Brunswick Lunenburg, Beveren. He married her in- 
deed at his father's command, but without professing for 
her either esteem or affection, and considering the claim 
of parental authority fully satisfied by the external cere- 



KING OF PRUSSIA. 19 i 

mony, obstinately and perpetually during the life of his 
father refrained from her bed. The poor princess lived 
about seven years in the court of Berlin, in a state which 
the world has not often seen, a wife without a husband, 
married so far as to engage her person to a man who 
did not desire her affection, and of whom it was doubtful 
whether he thought himself restrained from the power 
of repudiation by an act performed under evident com- 
pulsion. 

Thus he lived secluded from publick business, in con- 
tention with his father, in alienation from his wife. This 
state of uneasiness he found the only means of softening 
by diverting his mind from the scenes about him by stu- 
dies and liberal amusements. The studies of princes sel- 
dom produce great effects, for princes draw with mean- 
er mortals the lot of understanding; and since of many 
students not more than one can be hoped to advance far 
towards perfection, it is scarcely to be expected that we 
should find that one a prince; that the desire of science 
should overpower in any mind the love of pleasure, when 
it is always present, or always within call; that laborious 
meditation should be preferred in the days of youth to 
amusements and festivity; or that perseverance should 
press forward in contempt of flattery: and that he, in 
whom moderate acquisitions would be extolled as pro- 
digies, should exact from himself that excellence of 
which the whole world conspires to spare him the ne- 
c-essity. 

In every great performance, perhaps in every great 
character, part is the gift of nature, part the contribu- 
tion of accident, and part, very often not the greatest 
part, the effect of voluntary election, and regular design. 
The king of Prussia was undoubtedly born with more 
than common abilities; but that he has cultivated them 
with more than common diligence, was probably the ef- 
fect of his peculiar condition, of that which he then con- 
sidered as cruelty and misfortune. 



i92 KING OF PRUSSIA. 

In this long interval of unhappiness and obscurity, he 
acquired skill in the mathematical sciences, such as is 
said to have put him on the level with those who have 
made them the business of their lives. This is probably 
to say too much: the acquisitions of kings are always 
niagnified. His skill in poetry and in the French lan- 
guage has been loudly praised by Voltaire, a judge with- 
out exception, if his honesty were equal to his know- 
ledge. Musick he not only understands, but practises on 
the German flute in the highest perfection; so that ac- 
cording to the regal censure of Philip of Macedon, he 
may be ashamed to play so well. 

He may be said to owe to the difficulties of his youth 
an advantage less frequently obtained by princes than 
literature and mathematicks. The necessity of passing 
his time without pomp, and of partaking of the pleasures 
and labours of a lower station, made him acquainted with 
the various forms of life, and with the genuine passions, 
interests, desires, and distresses, of mankind. Kings 
without this help from temporary infelicity see the world 
in a mist, which magnifies every thing near them, and 
bounds their view to a narrow compass, which few are 
able to extend by the mere force of curiosity. I have al- 
ways thought that what Cromwell had more than our 
lawful kings he owed to the private condition in which 
he first entered the world, and in which he long contin- 
ued: in that state he learned his art of secret transaction, 
and the knowledge by which he was able to oppose zeal 
to zeal, and make one enthusiast destroy another. 

The king of Prussia gained the same arts; and, being 
born to fairer opportunities of using them, brought to 
the throne the knowledge of a private man without the 
guilt of usurpation. Of this general acquaintance with 
the world there may be found some traces in his whole 
life. His conversation is like that of other men upon 
rommon topicks, his letters have an air of familiar ele- 



KING OF PRUSSIA. l^ 

gjince, and his whole conduct is that of a man who has 
to do with men, and who is not ignorant what motives 
will prevail over friends or enemies. 

In 1740 the old king fell sick, and spoke and acted in 
his illness with his usual turbulence and roughness, re- 
proaching his physicians in the grossest terms with 
their unskilfulness and impotence, and imputed to their 
ignorance or wickedness the pain which their prescrip- 
tions failed to relieve. These insults they bore with the 
submission which is commonly paid to despotick mon- 
archs; till at last the celebrated Hoffman was consulted, 
who failing like the rest to give ease to his majesty, was 
like the rest treated with injurious language. Hoffman, 
conscious of his own merit, replied, that he could not 
bear reproaches which he did not deserve; that he had 
tried all the remedies that art could supply, or nature 
could admit; that he was, indeed, a professor by his 
majesty's bounty; but that, if his abilities or integrity 
were doubted, he was willing to leave not only the uni- 
versity but the kingdom; and that he could not be driven 
into any place where the name of Hoffman would want 
respect. The king, however unaccustomed to such re- 
turns, was struck with conviction of his own indecency, 
told Hoffman that he had spoken well, and requested 
him to continue his attendance. 

The king, finding his distemper gaining upon his 
strength, grew at last sensible that his end was approach- 
ing, and, ordering the prince to be called to his bed, 
laid several injunctions upon him, of which one was to 
perpetuate the tall regiment by continual recruits, and 
another to receive his espoused wife. The prince gave 
him a respectful answer, but wisely avoided to diminish 
his own right or power by an absolute promise; and the 
king died uncertain of the fate of the tall regiment. 

The young king began his reign with great expecta- 
tions, which he has yet surpassed. His father's faults 

Vol. XII, I 



194 KING OF PRUSSIA. 

produced many advantages to the first years of his reign. 
He had an army of seventy thousand men well disci- 
plined, without any imputation of severity to himself; 
and was master of a vast treasure, without the crime or 
reproach of raising it. It was publickly said in our 
House of Commons, that he had eight millions sterHng 
of our money; but I believe he that said it had not con- 
sidered how difficultly eight millions would be found in 
all the Prussian dominions. Men judge of what they do 
not see by that which they see. We are used to talk in 
England of millions with great familiarity, and imagine 
that there is the same affluence of money in other coun- 
tries; in countries whose manufactures are few and com- 
merce little. 

Every man's first cares are necessarily domestick. 
The king, being now no longer under influence or its 
appearance, determined how to act towards the unhappy 
lady who had possessed for seven years the empty title 
of the Princess of Prussia. The papers of those times 
exhibited the conversation of their first interview; as if 
the king, who plans campaigns in silence, would not ac- 
commodate a difference with his wife, but with writers 
of news admitted as witnesses. It is certain that he re- 
ceived her as a queen, but whether he treats her as a 
wife is yet in dispute. 

In a few days his resolution was known with regard 
to the tall regiment; for some recruits being offered him, 
he rejected them; and this body of giants, by continued 
disregard, mouldered away. 

He treated his mother with great respect, ordered 
that she should bear the title of Queen-mother^ and that, 
instead of addressing him as His Majesty, she should 
only call him Son, 

As he was passing soon after between Berlin and 
Potsdam, a thousand boys who had been marked out for 
military service, surrounded his coach, and cried out, 
^' Merciful king, deliver us from our slavery." He pro- 



KING OF PRUSSIA. 195 

mised them their liberty, and ordered the next day that 
the badge should be taken off. 

He still continued that correspondence with learned 
men, which he began when he was prince; and the eyes 
of all scholars, a race of mortals formed for dependence, 
were upon him, as a man likely to renew the times of 
patronage, and to emulate the bounties of Lewis the 
Fourteenth. 

It soon appeared that he was resolved to govern with 
very little ministerial assistance: he took cognizance of 
every thing with his own eyes; declared that in all con- 
trarieties of interest between him and his subjects, the 
publick good should have the preference; and in one of 
the first exertions of regal power banished the prime 
minister, and favourite of his father, as one that had be- 
trayed his master^ and abused his trust. 

He then declared his resolution to grant a general to- 
leration of religion, and among other liberalities of con- 
cession allowed the profession of Free Masonry. It is the 
great taint of his character, that he has given reason to 
doubt, whether this toleration is the effect of charity or 
indifference; whether he means to support good men of 
every religion, or considers all religions as equally good. 

There had subsisted for some time in Prussia an or- 
der called the Order for Favour^ which, according to its 
denomination, had been conferred with very little distinc- 
tion. The king instituted the Order for A/<?nV, with which 
he honoured those whom he considered as deserving. 
There were some who thought their merit not suffi- 
ciently recompensed by this new title; but he was not 
very ready to grant pecuniary rewards. Those who were 
most in his favour he sometimes presented with snuff- 
boxes, on which was inscribed Amitie augmente le firix. 

He was however charitable, if not liberal; for he or- 
dered the magistrates of the several districts to be very 
attentive to the relief of the poor; and if the funds esta^ 



196 KING OF PRUSSIA. 

blished for that use were not sufficient, permitted that 
the deficiency should be supplied out of the revenues of 
the town. 

One of his first cares was the advancement of learn- 
ing. Immediately upon his accession, he wrote to Rol- 
lin and Voltaire, that he desired the continuance of their 
friendship; and sent for Mr. Maupertuis, the principal 
of the French academicians, who passed a winter in Lap- 
land, to verify, by the mensuration of a degree near the 
Pole, the Newtonian doctrine of the form of the Earth. 
He requested of Maupertuis to come to Berlin, to settle 
an academy, in terms of great ardour and great conde- 
scension. 

At the same time, he shewed the world that literary 
amusements were not likely, as has more than once hap- 
pened to royal students, to withdraw him from the care 
of the kingdom, or make him forget his interest. He 
began by reviving a claim to Herstal and Hermal, twq 
districts in the possession of the bishop of Liege.. When 
he sent his commissary to demand the homage of the in- 
habitants, they refused him admission, declaring that 
they acknowledged no sovereign but the bishop. The 
king then wrote a letter to the bishop, in which he com- 
plained of the violation of his right, and the contempt 
of his authority, charged the prelate with countenancing 
the late act of disobedience, and required an answer in 
two days. 

In three days the answer was sent, in which the bishop 
founds his claim to the two lordships upon a grant of 
Charles the Fifth, guaranteed by France and Spain; al- 
leges that his predecessors had enjoyed this grant above 
a century, and that he never intended to infringe th6 
rights of Prussia; but as the house of Brandenburgh had 
always made some pretensions to that territory, he was 
willing to do what other bishops had offered, to purchase 
t'Hat claim for an hundred thousand crownsr. 



KING OF PRUSSIA. 197 

To every man that knows the state of the feudal 
countries, the intricacy of their pedigrees, the confusion 
of their alliances, and the different rules of inheritance 
that prevail in different places, it will appear evident, 
that of reviving antiquated claims there can be no end, 
and that the possession of a century is a better title than 
can commonly be produced. So long; a prescription sup- 
poses an acquiescence in the other claimants; and that 
acquiescence supposes also some reason, perhaps now 
unknown, for which the claim was forborne. Whether 
this rule could be considered as valid in the controversy 
between these sovereigns may, however be doubted; for 
the bishop's answer, seems to imply, that the title of the 
house of Brandenburgh had been kept alive by repeated 
claims, though the seizure of the territory had been 
hitherto forborne. 

The king did not suffer his claim to be subjected to 
any altercations, but, having published a declaration in 
^vhich he charged the Bishop with violence and injus- 
tice, and remarked that the feudal laws allowed every 
man whose possession was withheld from him to enter 
it with an armed force, he immediately dispatched two 
thousand soldiers into the controverted countries, where 
they lived without control, exercising every kind of 
military tyranny, till the cries of the inhabitants forced 
the Bishop to relinquish them to the quiet government 
of Prussia. 

This was but a petty acquisition; the time was now- 
come when the king of Prussia was to form and execute 
greater designs. On the 9th of October, 1740, half Eu- 
rope was thrown into confusion by the death of Charles 
the Sixth, emperor of Germany, by whose death all the 
hereditary dominions of the house of Austria descend- 
ed, according to the Pragmatick sanction, to his eldest 
daughter, who was married to the Duke of Lorrain, a^ 
the time of the Emperor's death, Duke of Tuscany- 



198 KING OF PRUSSIA. 

By how many securities the Pragmatick sanction \%as 
fortified, and how little it was regarded when those 
securities became necessary: how many claimants start- 
ed up at once to the several dominions of the house of 
Austria; how vehemently their pretensions were en- 
forced, and how many invasions were threatened or 
attempted: the distresses of the Emperor's daughter, 
known for several years by the title only of the queen of 
Hungary, because Hungary was the only country to which 
her claim had not been disputed: the firmness with which 
she struggled with her difficulties, and the good fortune 
by which she surmounted them: the narrow plan of this 
essay will not suffer me to relate. Let them be told by 
some other writer of more leisure and wider intelligence. 

Upon the Emperor's death, many of the German prin- 
ces fell upon the Austrian territories as upon a dead 
carcass, to be dismembered among them without resist- 
ance. Among these, with whatever justice, certainly with 
very little generosity, was the king of Prussia, who hav- 
ing assembled his troops, as was imagined to support 
the Pragmatick sanction, on a sudden entered Silesia 
with thirty thousand men, publishing a declaration, in 
which he disclaims any design of injuring the rights of 
the house of Austria, but urges his claim to Silesia, as 
rising from ancient coni>e7itions of family aiid confrater- 
nity between the house of Brandenburgh and the princes of 
Silesia, and other honourable titles. He says the fear of 
being defeated by other pretenders to the Austrian 
dominions, obliged him to enter Silesia without any 
previous expostulation with the queen; and that he shall 
strenuously espouse the interests of the house of Austria. 

Such a declaration was, I believe, in the opinion of all 
Europe, nothing less than the aggravation of hostility by 
insult, and was received by the Austrians with suitable 
indignation. The king pursued his purpose, marched 
forward, and in the frontiers of Silesia made a speech to 



KING OF PRUSSIA. 199 

his followers, in which he told them, that he considered 
them rather as friends than subjects, that the troops of 
Brandenburgh had been always eminent for their bravery, 
that they would always fight in his presence, and that 
he would recompense those who should distinguish 
themselves in his service, rather as a father than a king. 

The civilities of the great are never thrown aw;ty. 
The soldiers would naturally follow such a leader with 
alacrity; especially because they expected no opposi- 
tion: but human expectations are freepiently deceived) 

Entering thus suddenly into a country which he was 
supposed rather likely to protect than to invade, he acted 
for some time with absolute authority; but supposing 
that this submission would not always last, he endea- 
voured to persuade the queen to a cession of Silesia, 
imagining that she would easily be persuaded to yield 
what was already lost. He therefore ordered his minister 
to declare at Vienna, " that he was ready to guarantee all 
the German dominions of the house of Austria: that he 
would conclude a treaty with Austria, Russia, and the 
maritime powers: that he would endeavour that the 
Duke of Lorrain should be elected emperor, and believ- 
ed that he could accomplish it: that he would immediately 
advance to the queen two millions of florins: that in re- 
compense for all this, he required Silesia to be yielded 
to him. 

These seem not to be the offers of a prince very much 
convinced of his own right. He afterwards moderated 
his claim, and ordered his minister to hint at Vienna, 
that half of Silesia would content him. 

The queen answered, that though the king alleged, 
as his reason for entering Silesia the danger of the 
Austrian territories from other pretenders, and endea- 
voured to persuade her to give up part of her possessions for 
ihe preservation of the rest, it was evident that he wai^ 



sao KINOi OF PRUSSIA. 

the first and only invader, and that, till he entered in a 
hostile manner, all her estates were unmolested. 

To his promises of assistance she replied, ^'that she 
set a high value on the king of Prussia's friendship; but 
that he was already obliged to assist her against her in- 
vaders, both by the Golden bull, and the Pragmatick 
sanction, of which he was a guarantee; and that, if these 
ties were of no force, she knew not what to hope from 
other engagements. Of his offers of alliances with Russia 
and the maritime powers, she observed, that it could be 
never fit to alienate her dominions for the consolidation 
(»f an alliance formed only to keep them intire. 

With regard to his interest in the election of an empe- 
jior, she expressed her gratitude in strong terms; but 
added, that the election ought to be free, and that it must 
necessarily be embarrassed by contentions thus raised in 
the heart of the empire. Of the peculiar assistance pro- 
posed she remarks, that no prince ever made war to oblige 
another to take money, and that the contributions already 
levied in Silesia exceeded the two millions offered as its 
purchase. 

She concluded, that as she values the king's friend- 
ship, she was willing to purchase it by any compliance 
but the diminution of her dominions; anu exhorted him 
to perform his part in support of the Pragmatick sanc- 
tion. 

The king, finding negotiation thus ineffectual, pushed 
forward his inroads, and now began to shew how secretly 
he could take his measures. When he called a council 
of war, he proposed the question in a few words: all his 
generals wrote their opinions in his presence upon sepa- 
rate papers, which he carried away, and examining them 
in private, formed his resolution without imparting it 
otherwise than by his orders. 

He began, not without policy, to seize first upon the 
e.states of the clergy; an order every where necessary, 



KING OF PRUSSIA. 20 i 

and every where envied. He plundered the convents of 
their stores of provision; and told them, that he never 
had heard of any magazines erected by the Apostles. 

This insult was mean, because it was unjust; but those 
who could not resist were obliged to bear it. He pro- 
ceeded in his expedition; and a detachment of his troops 
took Jablunca, one of the strong places of Silesia, which 
Avas soon after abandoned, for want of provisions, which 
the Austrian hussars, who were now in motion, were 
busy to interrupt. 

One of the most remarkable events of the Silesian 
war was the conquest of Great Glogow, which was 
taken by an assault in the dark, headed by prince 
Leopold of Anhault Dessau. They arrived at the foot of 
the fortifications about twelve at ni^-ht, and in two hours 
were masters of the place. In attempts of this kind many 
accidents happen which cannot be heard without surprise. 
Four Prussian grenadiers, who had climbed the ramparts, 
missing their own company, met an Austrian captain 
with fifty-two men: they were at first frightened, and 
were about to retreat; but gathering courage, command- 
ed the Austrians to lay down their arms, and in the ter- 
ror of darkness and confusion were unexpectedly obeyed. 

At the same time a conspiracy to kill or carry away 
the king of Prussia was said to be discovered. The Prus- 
sians published a memorial, in which the Austrian court 
was accused of employing emissaries and assassins 
against the king; and it was alleged, in direct terms, 
that one of them had confessed himself obliged by oath 
to destroy him, which oath had been given in an Aulic 
council in the presence of the Duke of Lorrain. 

To this the Austrians answered, " that the character 
of the queen and duke was too well known not to destroy 
the force of such an accusation; that the tale of the con- 
fession was an imposture; and that no such attempt was 
ever made.*' 

Each party was now inflamed; and orders were given 

I 2 



2^2' KING OF PRUSSIA. 

to the Austrian general to hazard a battle. The two 
armies met at Molvvitz, and parted without a complete 
victory on either side. The Austrians quitted the field in 
good order; and the king of Prussia rode away upon the 
first disorder of his troops, without waiting for the last 
event. This attention to his personal safety has not yet 
been forgotten. 

After this there was no action of much importance. 
But the king of Prussia, irritated by opposition, trans- 
ferred his interest in the election to the duke of Bavaria; 
and the Queen of Hungary, now attacked by France, 
Spain, and Bavaria, was obliged to make peace with him 
at the expence of half Silesia, without procuring those 
advantages which were once offered her. 

To enlarge dominions has been the boast of many 
princes; to diffuse happiness and security through wide 
regions has been granted to few. The king of Prussia 
has aspired to both these honours, and endeavoured to 
join the praise of legislature to that of conqueror. 

To settle property, to suppress false claims, and to 
regulate the administration of civil and criminal justice, 
are attempts so difficult and so useful, that I shall wil- 
lingly suspend or contract the history of battles and 
sieges to give a larger account of this pacifick cnter- 
prize. 

That the king of Prussia has considered the nature 
and the reasons of laws, with more attention than is 
common to princes, appears from his dissertation on the 
Meaaonsfor e?iacting and refieaiing Laws; a piece which 
yet deserves notice rather as a proof of good inclination 
than of great ability; for there is nothing to be found in 
it more than the most obvious books may supply, or 
the weakest intellect discover. Some of his observations 
are just and useful; but upon such a subject who can 
think without often thinking right? It is however not to 
be omittedj that he appears abvays propens^ towards the 



KING OF PRUSSIA. 203 

bide of mercy. " If a poor man,'* says he, ^^ steals in his 
want a watch, or a few pieces, from 4)ne to whom the 
loss is inconsiderable, is this a reason for condemning 
him to death?" 

He regrets that the laws against duels have been in- 
effectual; and is of opinion, that they can never attain 
their end, unless the princes of Europe shall agree not 
to afford an asylum to duellists, and to punish all who 
shall insult their equals eitheiy^y word, deed, or writing. 
He seems to suspect this scheme of being chimerical. 
" Yet why," says he, " sliould not personal quarrels be 
submitted to judges, as well as questions of possession? 
And why sliould not a congress be appointed for the 
general good of mankind, as well as for so many purposes 
of less importance?" 

He declares himself with great ardour against the use 
of torture, and by some misinformation charges the En- 
glish that they still retain it. 

It is perhaps impossible to review the laws of any 
country without discovering many defects and manv su- 
perfluities. Laws often continue, when their reasons have 
ceased. Laws made for the first state of the society con- 
tinue unabolished, when the general form of life is 
changed. Parts of the judicial procedure, which were at 
first only accidental, become in time essential; and form- 
alities are accumulated on each other, till the art of liti- 
gation requires more study than the discovery of right. 

The king of Prussia, examining the institutions of his 
own country, thought them such as could only be amen- 
ded by a general abrogation, and the establishment of a 
new body of law, to which he gave the name of the 
Code FREDERiquE, which is comprised in one volume 
of no great bulk, and must therefore unavoidably contain 
general positions, to be accommodated to particular 
cases by the wisdom and integrity of the courts. Toem- 
I5arrass justice by naultiplicity of laws, or to hazard it by 



504 KING OF PRUSSIA. 

confidence in judges, seem to be the opposite rocks on 
which all civil institutions have been wrecked, and be- 
tween which legislative wisdom has never yet found an 
open passage. 

Of this new system of laws, contracted as it is, a full 
account cannot be expected in these memoirs; but, that 
curiosity may not be dismissed without some gratifica- 
tion, it has been thought proper to epitomise the king's 
plan for the reformation of his courts. 

" The differences whrch arise between members of 
the same society, may be terminated by a voluntary 
agreement between the parties, by arbitration, or by a 
judicial process. 

" The two first methods produce more frequently a 
temporary suspension of disputes than a final termina- 
tion. Courts of justice are therefore necessary, with a 
settled method of procedure; of which the most simple 
is, to cite the parties, to hear their pleas, and dismiss 
them with immediate decision. 

" This however is in many cases impracticable, and 
in others is so seldom practised, that it is frequent rather 
to incur loss than to seek for legal reparation, by enter- 
ing a labyrinth of which there is no end. 

" This tediousness of suits keeps the parties in dis- 
quiet and perturbation, rouses and perpetuates animosi- 
ties, exhausts the litigants by expence, retards the pro- 
gress of their fortune, and discourages strangers from 
settling. 

" These inconveniences, with which the best regulated 
polities of Europe are embarrassed, must be removed, not 
by the total prohibition of suits, which is impossible, but 
by contraction of processes; by opening an easy way for 
the appearance of truth, and removing all obstructions 
by which it is concealed. 

" The ordinance of 1667, by which Lewis the Four- 
teenth established an uniformity of procedure through 



KING OF PRUSSIA. 2G5 

all his courts, has been considered as one of the greatest 
benefits of his reign. 

" The king of Prussia, observing that each of his pro- 
vinces had a different method of judicial procedure, pro- 
posed to reduce them all to one form; which being tried 
with success in Pomerania, a province remarkable for 
contention, he afterwards extended to all his dominions, 
ordering the judges to inform him of any difficulties 
which arose from it. 

" Some settled method is neelssary in judicial proce- 
dures. Small and simple causes might be decided upon 
the oral pleas of the two parties appearing before the 
judge; but many cases are so entangled and perplexed as 
to require all the skill and abilities of those who devote 
their lives to the study of the law. 

" Advocates, or men who can understand and explain 
the question to be discussed, are therefore necessary* 
But these men, instead of endeavouring to promote jus- 
tice and discover truth, have exerted their wits in defence 
of bad causes, by forgeries of facts, and fallacies of argu- 
ment. 

" To remedy this evil, the king has ordered an inquiry 
into the qualifications of the advocates. All those who 
practised without a regular admission, or who can be 
convinced of disingenuous practice, are discarded. And 
the judges are commanded to examine which of the 
causes now depending have been protracted by the 
crimes and ignorance of the advocates, and to dismiss 
those who shall appear culpable. 

" When advocates are too numerous to live by honest 
practice, they busy themselves in exciting disputes, and 
disturbing the community: the number of these to be 
employed in each court is therefore fixed. 

" The reward of the advocates is fixed with due regard 
to the nature of the cause, and the labour required; but 
not a penny is received by them tiJI the suit is ended, 



206 KING OF PRUSSIA. 

that it may be their interest, as well as that of the clients^ 
to shorten the process. 

"No advocate is admitted in petty courts, small towns 
or villages; where the poverty of the people, and for the 
most part the low value of the matter contested, make 
dispatch absolutely necessary. In those places the parties 
shall appear in person, and the judge make a summary 
decision. 

" There must likewise be allowed a subordination of 
tribunals, and a power of appeal. No judge is so skilful 
and attentive as not sometimes to err. Few are so honest 
as not sometimes to be partial. Petty judges would be- 
come insupportably tyrannical, if they were not restrained 
by the fear of a superior judicature; and their decision 
would be negligent or arbitrary, if they were not in dan- 
ger of seeing them examined and cancelled. 

" The right of appeal must be restrained, that causes 
may not be transferred without end from court to court; 
and a premptory decision must at last be made. 

When an appeal is made to a higher court, the appel- 
lant is allowed only four weeks to frame his bill, the judge 
«f the lower court being to transmit to th« higher all the 
evidences and informations. If upon the first view of the 
cause thus opened, it shall appear that the appeal was 
made without just cause, the first sentence shall be con- 
firmed without citation of the defendant. If any new 
evidence shall appear, or any doubts arise, both the 
parties shall be heard. 

" In the discussion of causes altercation must be allow- 
ed; yet to altercation some limits must be put. There are 
therefore allowed a bill, an answer, a reply, and a rejoin- 
der, to be delivered in writing. 

" No cause is allowed to be heard in more than three 
different courts. To further the first decision every ad- 
vocate is enjoined, under severe penalties, not to begin a 
suit till he has collected all the necessary evidence.' If 



V 



KING OF PRUSSIA. 207 

the first court has decided in an unsatisfactory manner, 
an appeal may be made to the second, and from the 
second to the third. The process in each appeal is limited 
to six months. The third court may indeed pass an errone- 
ous judgment; and then the injury is without redress. But 
this objection is without end, and therefore without force. 
No method can be found of preserving humanity from 
error; but of contest there must some time be an end; and 
he who thinks himself injured for want of an appeal to a 
fourth court, must consider himself as suffering for the 
publick. 

"There is a special advocate appointed for the poor. 

" The attornies who had formerly the care of collect- 
ing evidence, and of adjusting all the preliminaries of a 
suit, are now totally dismissed; the whole affair is put 
into the hands of the advocates, and the office of an attor- 
ney is annnlled for ever. 

" If any man is hindered by some lawful impediment 
from attending his suit, time will be granted him upon 
the representation of his case.'* 

Such is the order according to which civil justice is 
administered through the extensive dominions of the 
king of Prussia; which, if it exhibits nothing very subtle 
or profund, affords one proof more that the right is easily 
discovered, and that men do not so often want ability to 
find, as willingness to practise it. 

We now return to the war. 

The time at which the queen of Hungary was willing 
to purchase peace by the resignation of Silesia, though 
it came at last, was not come yet. She had all the spirit, 
though not all the power of her ancestors; and could not 
bear the thought of losing any part of her patrimonial 
dominions to the enemies which the opinion of her weak- 
ness raised every where against her. 

In the beginning of the year 1742, the elector of Ba- 
varia was invested with the imperial dignity, supported 



208 KING OF PRUSSIA. 

by the arms of France, of master of the kmgdom of Bo- 
hemia: and confederated with the elector of Palatine, and 
the elector of Saxony, who claimed Moravia; and with 
the king of Prussia, who was in possession of Silesia. 

Such was the state of the queen of Hungary, pressed 
on every side, and on every side preparing for resistance: 
she yet refused all offers of accommodation, f®r every 
prince set peace at a price which she was not yet so far 
humbled as to pay. The king of Prussia was among the 
most zealous and forward in the confederacy against her. 
He promised to secure Bohemia to the emperor, and 
Moravia to the elector of Saxony; and, finding no enemy 
in the field able to resist him, he returned to Berlin, and 
left Schwerin his general to prosecute the conquest. 

The Prussians in the midst of winter took Olmutz, the 
capital of Moravia, and laid the whole country under 
contribution. The cold then hindered them from action, 
and they only blocked up the fortresses of Brinn and 
Spielberg. 

In the spring, the king of Prussia came again into the 
field, and undertook the siege of Brinn; but upon the 
approach of prince Charles of Lorrain retired from before 
it, and quitted Moravia, leaving only a garrison in the 
capital. 

The condition of the queen of Hungary was now 
changed. She was a few months before without money, 
without troops, incircled with enemies. The Bavarians 
had entered Austria, Vienna was threatened with a siege, 
and the queen left it to the fate of war, and retired into 
Hungary; where she was received with zeal and affec- 
tion, not unmingled however with that neglect which 
must always be borne by greatness in distress. She bore 
the disrespect of her subjects with the same firmness as 
the outrages of her enemies; and at last persuaded the 
English not to despair of her preservation, by not des- 
pairing herself. 



KING OF PRUSSIA. 209 

Voltaire in his late history has asserted, that a large 
sum was raised for her succour, by voluntary subscrip- 
tions of the English ladies. It is the great failing of a 
strong imagination to catch greedily at wonders. He was 
misinformed, and was perhaps unwilling to learn by a 
second enquiry a truth less splendid and amusing. A 
contribution was by news-writers, upon their own autho- 
rity, fruitlessly, and, I think, illegally, proposed. It ended 
in nothing. The parliament voted a supply, and five hun- 
dred thousand pounds were remitted to her. 

It has been always the weakness of the Austrian family 
to spend in the magnificence of empire those revenues 
which should be kept for its defence. The court is 
splendid, but the treasury is empty; and at the beginning 
of every war, advantages are gained against them, before 
their armies can be assembled and equipped. 

The English money was lo the Austrians as ashowel* 
to a field, where all the vegetative powers are kept un- 
active by a long continuance of drought. The armies, 
which had hitherto been hid in mountains and forests, 
started out of their retreats; and wherever the queen's 
standard was erected, nations scarcely known by their 
names, swarmed immediately about it. An army, espe- 
cially a defensive army, multiplies itself. The contagion 
of enterprize spreads from one heart to another. Zeal 
for a native or detestation of a foreign sovereign, hope 
of sudden greatness or riches, friendship or emulation 
between particular men, or what are perhaps more gene- 
ral and powerful, desire of novelty and impatience of 
inactivity, fill a camp with adventurers, add rank to rank, 
and squadron to squadron. 

The queen had still enemies on every part, but she 
now on every part had armies ready to oppose them. 
Austria was immediately recovered; the plains of Bohe- 
mia were filled with her troops, though the fortresses 
were garrisoned by the French. The Bavarians were 



210 KING OF PRUSSIA. 

recalled to the defence of their own country, now wasted 
by the incursions of troops that were called Barbarians, 
greedy enough of plunder, and daring perhaps beyond 
the rules of war, but otherwise not more cruel than those 
whom they attacked. Prince Lobkowitz with one army 
observed the motions of Broglio, the French general, 
in Bohemia; and prince Charles with another put a stop 
to the advances of the king of Prussia. 

It was now the turn of the Prussians to retire. They 
abandoned Olmutz, and left behind them part of their 
cannon and magazines. And the king finding that Broglio 
could not long oppose prince Lobkowitz, hastened into 
Bohemia to his assistance; and having received a rein- 
forcement of twenty-three thousand men, and taken the 
castle of Glatz, which, being built upon a rock scarcely 
accessible, would have defied all bis power, had the gar- 
rison been furnished with provisions, he purposed to join 
his allies, and prosecute his conquests. 

Prince Charles, seeing Moravia thus evacuated by the 
Prussians, determined to garrison the towns which he 
had just recovered, and pursue the enemy, who, by the 
assistance of the French, would have been too powerful 
for prince Lobkowitz. 

Success had now given confidence to the Austrians, 
and had proportionably abated the spirit of their enemies. 
The Saxons, who had cooperated with the king of Prus- 
sia in the conquest of Moravia, of which they expected 
the perpetual possession, seeing all hopes of sudden ac- 
quisition defeated, and the province left again to its for- 
mer masters, grew weary of following a prince, whom 
they considered as no longer acting the part of their 
confederate; and when they approached the confines of 
Bohemia took a different road, and left the Prussians to 
their own fortune. 

The king continued his march, and Charles his pursuit. 
At Czaslawthe two armies came in sight of one another. 



KING OF PRUSSIA. 211 

and the Austiians resolved on a decisive day. On the 6th 
of May, about seven in the morning, the Ausirians began 
the attack: their impetuosity was matched by the firm- 
ness of the Prussians. The animosity of the two armies 
was much inflamed: the Austrians were fighting for 
their country, and the Prussians were in a place where 
defeat must inevitably end in death or captivity. The fury 
of the battle continued four hours: the Prussian horse 
were at length broken, and the Austrians forced their 
way to the camp, where the wild troops, who had fought 
with so much vigour and constancy, at the sight of plun- 
der forgot their obedience, nor had any man the least 
thought but how to load himself with the richest spoils. 

While the right wing of the Austrians was thus em- 
ployed, the main body was left naked: the Prussians re- 
covered from their confusion, and regained the day. 
Charles was at last forced to retire, and carried with him 
the standard of his enemies, the proofs of a victory, 
which, though so nearly gained, he had not been able to 
keep. 

The victory however was dearly bought; the Prussian 
army was much weakened, and the cavalry almost totally 
destroyed. Peace is easily made when it is necessary to 
both parties; and the king of Prussia had now reason to 
believe that the Austrians were not his only enemies. 
When he found Charles advancing, he sent to Broglio 
for assistance, and was answered that " he must have 
orders from Versailles." Such a desertion of his most 
powerful ally disconcerted him, but the battle was una- 
voidable. 

When the Prussians were returned to the camp, the 
king, hearing that an Austrian officer was brought in 
mortally wounded, had the condescension to visit him. 
The officer, struck with this act of humanity, said, after 
a short conversation, " I should die. Sir, contentedly 
after this honour, if I might first shew my gratitude to 



212 KING OF PRUSSIA. ) 

your majesty by informing you with what allies you are 
now united, allies that have no intention but to deceive 
you.** The king appearing to suspect this intelligence; 
*< Sir/' said the Austrian, " if you will permit me to 
send a messenger to Vienna, I believe the queen will 
tiot refuse to transmit an intercepted letter now in her 
hands, which will put my report beyond all doubt." 

The messenger was sent, and the letter transmitted, 
with contained the order sent to Broglio, who was, first, 
forbidden to mix his troops on any occj^sion with the 
Prussians. Secondly, he was ordered to art always at a 
distance from the king. Thirdly, to keep alw^ays a body 
of twenty thousand men to observe the Prussian army. 
Fourthly, to observe very closely the motions of the king, 
for important reasons. Fifthly, to hazard nothing; but to 
pretend want of reinforcements, or the absence of Bef- 
lisle. 

The king now with great reason considered himself 
as disengaged from the confederacy, being deserted by 
the Saxons, and betrayed by the French; he therefore 
accepted the mediation of king George, and in three 
\veeks after the battle of Czaslaw made peace with the 
queen of Hungary, who granted to him the whole province 
of Silesia, a country of such extent and opulence that 
he is said to receive from it one third part of his reve- 
nues. By one of the articles of this treaty it is stipulated, 
^< that neither should assist the enemies of the other." 

The queen of Hungary, thus disentangled on one side, 
and set free from the most formidable of her enemies, 
soon persuaded the Saxons to peace; took possession of 
Bavaria; drove the emperor, after all his imaginary con- 
quests, to the shelter of a neutral town, where he was 
treated as a fugitive; and besieged the French in Prague, 
in the city which they had taken from her. 

Having thus obtained Silesia, the king of Prussia re- 
turned to his own capital, where he reformed his laws> 



KING OF PRUSSIA. 

forbid the torture of criminals, concluded a defensiveily 
liance with England, and applied himself to the aug- 
mentation of his army. 

This treaty of peace with the queen of Hungary wtl& 
one of the first proofs given by the king of Prussia of the 
secrecy of his counsels. Bellisle, the French general, was 
with him in the camp, as a friend and coadjutor in ap- 
pearance, but in truth a spy, and a writer of intelligence. 
Men who have great confidence in their own penetration 
are often by that confidence deceived; they imagine that 
they can pierce through all the involutions of intriguer 
without the diligence necessary to weaker minds, and 
therefore sit idle and secure; they believe that none can 
hope to deceive them, and therefore that none will try. 
Bellisle, with all his reputation of sagacity, though he 
was in the Prussian camp, gave every day fresh assur- 
ances of the king's adherence to his allies; while Broglio, 
whp commanded the army at a distance, discovered suf- 
ficient reason to suspect his desertion. Broglio was 
slighted, and Bellisle believed, till on the 1 Ith of June 
the treaty was signed, and the king declared his resolu- 
tion to keep a neutrality. 

This is one of the great performances of polity which 
mankind seem agreed to celebrate and admire; yet to 
all this nothing was necessary but the determination of 
^st.very few men to be silent. 

From this time the queen of Hungary proceeded with 
an uninterrupted torrent of success. The French, driven 
from station to station, and deprived of fortress after for- 
tress, were at last inclosed with their two generals, Bel- 
lisle and Broglio, in the walls of Prague, which they had 
stored with all provisions necessary to a town besieged, 
and where they defended themselves three months be- 
fore any prospect appeared of relief. 

The Austrians, having been engaged chiefly in the 
field, and in sudden and tumultuary excursions rather 
than a regular war, had no great degree of skill in at- 



KING OF PRUSSIA. 

L^ xving or defending towns. They likewise would natu- 
rally consider all the mischiefs done to the city as falling 
ultimately upon themselves, and therefore were willing 
to gain it by time rather than by force. 

It was apparent that, how long soever Prague might 
be defended, it must be yielded at last; and therefore all 
arts were tried to obtain an honourable capitulation. The 
messengers from the city were sent back sometimes 
unheard, but always with this answer, " That no terms 
would be allowed, but that they shovild yield themselves 
prisoners of war." 

The condition of the garrison was in the eyes of all 
Europe desperate; but the French, to whom the praise 
of spirit and activity cannot be denied, resolved to make 
an effort for the honour of their arms. Maillebois was at 
that time encamped with his army in Westphalia. Orders 
were sent him to relieve Prague. The enterprize was 
considered as romantick. Maillebois was a march of forty 
days distant from Bohemia, the passes were narrow, atid 
the ways foul; and it was likely that Prague would be 
taken before he could reach it. The march was, however, 
begun: the army, being joined by that of count Saxe, 
consisted of fifty thousand men, who, notwithstanding all 
the difficulties' which two Austrian armies could put in 
their way, at last entered Bohemia. The siege of Prague, 
though not raised, was remitted, and a communication 
was now opened to it with the country. But the Austrians, 
by perpetual intervention, hindered the garrison from 
joining their friends. The officers of Maillebois incited 
him to a battle, because the army was hourly lessening 
by the want of provisions; but instead of passing on to 
Prague, he retired into Bavaria, and completed the ruin 
©f the emperor's territories. 

The court of France, disappointed and offended, con- 
ferred the chief command upon Broglio, who escaped 
from the besiegers with very little difficulty, and kept 



KING OF PRUSSIA. 215 

the Austrians employed till Bellisle by a sudden sally 
quitted Prague, and without any great loss joined the 
main army. Broglio then retired over the Rhine ihto the 
French dominions, wasting in his retreat the country 
which he had undertaken to protect, and burning towns, 
and destroying magazines of corn, with such wanton- 
ness, as gave reason to believe that he expected commen- 
dation from his court for any mischiefs done, by what- 
ever means. 

The Austrians pursued their advantages, recovered 
all their strong places, in some of which French garri- 
sons had been left, and made themselves masters of Ba- 
varia, by taking not only Munich the capital, but Ingal- 
stadt the strongest fortification in the elector's dominions, 
■where they found a great number of cannon and quantity 
of ammunition intended in the dreams of projected great- 
ness for the siege of Vienna, all the archives of the 
state, the plate and ornaments of the electoral palace, 
and what had been considered as most worthy of preser- 
vation. Nothing but the warlike stores were taken away. 
An oath of allegiance to the queen was required of the 
Bavarians, but without any explanation whether tempo- 
rary or perpetual. 

The emperor lived at Frankfort in the security that 
was allowed to neutral places, but without much respect 
from the German princes, except that, upon some ob- 
jections made by the queen to the validity of his election, 
the king of Prussia declared himself determined to sup- 
port him in the imperial dignity with all his power. 

This may be considered as a token of no great affec- 
tion to the queen of Hungary, but it seems not to have 
raised much alarm. The German princes were afraid of 
nev/ broils. To contest the election of an emperor once 
invested and acknowledged, would be to overthrow the 
whole Germanic constitution. Perhaps no election by 
plurality of suffrages was ever made among human 



ai6 KING OF PRUSSIA. 

beings, to which it might not be objected that voices 
were procured by illicit influence. 

Some suspicions, however, were raised by the king*s 
declaration, which he endeavoured to obviate by order- 
ing his ministers to declare at London and at Vienna, 
that he was resolved not to violate the treaty of Bres- 
law. This declaration was sufficiently ambiguous, and 
could not satisfy those whom it might silence. But this 
was not a time for nice disquisitions: to distrust the king 
©f Prussia might have provoked him, and it was most 
convenient to consider him as a friend, till he appeared 
openly as an enemy. 

About the middle of the year 1744, he raised new 
alarms by collecting his troops and putting them in mo- 
tion. The earl of Hindford about this time demanded the 
troops stipulated for the protection of Hanover, not per- 
haps because they were thought necessary, but that the 
king's designs might be guessed from his answer, which 
was, that troops were not granted for the defence of any 
country till that country was in danger; and that he 
GTDuld not believe the elector of Hanover to be in much 
dread of an invasion, since he had withdrawn the native 
troops, and put them into the pay of England. 

He had, undoubtedly, now formed designs which 
made it necessary that his troops should be kept together; 
and the time soon came when the scene was to be open- 
ed. Prince Charles of Lorrain, having chased the French 
out of Bavaria, lay for some months encamped on the 
Rhine, endeavouring to gain a passage into Alsace. 
His attenipts had long been evaded by the skill and 
vigilance of the French general; till at last, June 21, 
1744, he executed his design, and lodged his army in 
the French dominions, to the surprise and joy of a great 
part of Europe. It was now expected that the territories 
of France would in their turn feel the miseries of war; 



KING OF PRUSSIA. 217 

and the nation, which so long kept the world in alarm, 
be taught at last the value of peace. 

The king of Prussia now saw the Austrian troops at a 
great distance from him, engaged in a foreign country 
against the most powerful, of all their enemies. Now, 
therefore, was the time to discover that he had lately made 
a treaty at Frankfort with the emperor, by which he had 
engaged, " that as the court of Vienna and its allies ap- 
peared backward to reestablish the tranquillity of the 
empire, and more cogent methods appeared necessary; 
he, being animated with a desire of cooperating towards 
the pacification of Germany, should make an expedition 
for the conquest of Bohemia, and to put it into the pos- 
session of the emperor, his heirs and successors, for 
ever; in gratitude for which the emperor should resign 
to him and his successors a certain number of lordships, 
which are now part of the kingdom of Bohemia. His 
imperial majesty likewise guarantees to the king of 
Prussia the perpetual possession of Upper Silesia; and 
the king guarantees to the emperor the perpetual pos- 
session of Upper Austria, as he shall have occupied it 
by conquest." 

It is easy to discover that the king began the war 
upon other motives than zeal for peace; and that, what- 
ever respect he was willing to shew to the emperor, he 
did not purpose to assist him without reward. In prose- 
cution of this treaty he put his troops in motion; and, 
according to his promise, while the Austrians were in- 
vading France, he invaded Bohemia. 

Princes have this remaining of humanity, that they 
think themselves obliged not to make war without a 
reason. Their reasons are indeed not always satisfactory. 
Lewis the Fourteenth seemed to think his own glory a 
sufficient motive for the invasion of Holland. The Czar 
attacked Charles of Sweden, because he had not been 
treated with sufficient respect when he made a journey in 

Vol. Xn. K 



218 KING OF PRUSSIA. 

disguise. The king of Prussia, having an opportunity of 
attacking his neighbour, was not long without his rea- 
sons. On July 30, he published his declaration, in which 
he declares: 

That he can no longer stand an idle spectator of the 
troubles in Gernmany, but finds himself obliged to make 
use of force to restore the power of the laws, and the 
authority of the emperor. 

That the queen of Hungary has treated the emperor's 
hereditary dominions with inexpressible cruelty. 

That Germany has been overrun with foreign troops, 
which have marched through neutral countries without 
the customary requisition. 

That the emperor's troops have been attacked under 
neutral fortresses, and obliged to abandon the empire, of 
which their master is the head. 

That the Imperial dignity has been treated with inde- 
cency by the Hungarian troops. 

The queen declaring the election of the emperor void, 
and the diet of Frankfort illegal, had not only violated 
the Imperial dignity, but injured all the princes who 
have the right of election. 

That he had no particular quarrel with the queen of 
Hungary; and that he desires nothing for himself, and 
only enters as an auxiliary into a war for the liberties of 
Germany. 

That the emperor had offered to quit his pretension 
to the dominions of Austria, on condition that his here- 
ditary countries be restored to him. 

That this proposal had been made to the king of En- 
gland at Hanau, and rejected in such a manner as shewed 
that the king of England had no intention to restore 
peace, but rather to make his advantage of the troubles. 
That the mediation of the Dutch had been desired; 
but that they declined to interpose, knowing the inflexi- 
bility of the English and Austrian courts. 



KING OF P.RUSSIA. 2ly 

That the Sutne terms were again offered at Vienna, and 
again rejected: that therefore the queen must impute it 
to her own councils that her enemies find new allies. 

That he is not fighting for any interest of his own; 
that he demands nothing for himself; but is determined 
to exert all his powers in defence of the emperor, in 
vindication of the right of election, and in support of the 
liberties of Germany, which the queen of Hungary would 
enslave. 

When this declaration was sent to the Prussian minis- 
ter in England, it was accompanied with a remonstrance 
to the king, in which many of the foregoing positions 
were repeated; the emperor's candour and disinterest- 
edness were magnified; the dangerous designs of the 
Austrians were displayed; it was imputed to them as 
the most flagrant violation of the Germanick constitu- 
tion, that they had driven the emperor's troops out of 
the empire; the publick spirit and generosity of his 
Prussian majesty were again heartily declared; and it 
was said that this quarrel having no connection with En- 
glish interests, the English ought not to interpose. 

Austria and all her allies were put into amazement 
by this declaration, which at once dismounted them from 
the sunimit of success, and obliged them to fight through 
the war a second time. What succours, or what promi- 
ses, Prussia received from France was never publickly 
known; but it is not to be doubted thata prince so watchful 
of opportunity sold assistance, when it was so much want- 
ed, at the highest rate; nor can it be supposed that he ex- 
posed himself to so much hazard only for the freedom 
of Germany, and a few petty districts in Bohemia. 

The French, who, from ravaging the empire at dis- 
cretion, and wasting whatever they found either among 
enemies or friends, were now driven into their own do- 
minions, and in their own dominions were insulted and 
pursued, were on a sudden by this new auxiliary restored 



220 KING OF PRUSSIA. 

to their former superiority, at least were disburthened 
of their invaders, and delivered from their terrors. And 
all the enemies of the house of Bourbon saw with indig- 
nation and amazement the recovery of that power which 
they had with so much cost and bloodshed brought low; 
and which their animosity and elation had disposed them 
to imagine yet lower than it was. 

The queen of Hungary still retained her firmness. 
The Prussian declaration was not long without an an- 
swer, which was transmitted to the European princes 
with some observations on the Prussian minister's re- 
monstrance to the court of Vienna, which he was or- 
dered by his master to read to the Austrian council, but 
not to deliver. The same caution was practised before, 
when the Prussians, after the emperor's death, invaded 
Silesia. This artifice of political debate may, perhaps, 
be numbered by the admirers of greatness among the^ 
refinements of conduct; but, as it is a method of proceed- 
ing not very difficult to be contrived or practised, as it 
can be of very rare use to honesty or wisdom, and as it 
has been long known to that class of men whose safety 
depends upon secresy, though hitherto applied chiefly 
in petty cheats and slight transactions; I do not see that 
it can much advance the reputation of regal understand- 
ing, or indeed that it can add more to the safety, than it 
takes away from the honour of him that shall adopt it. 

The queen in her answer, after charging the king of 
Prussia with breach of the treaty of Breslaw, and observ- 
ing how much her enemies will exult to see the peace 
now the third time broken by him, declares, 

That she had no intention to injure the rights of the 
electors, and that she calls in question not the event but 
the manner of the election. 

That she had spared the emperor's troops with great 
terderness, and that they were driven out of the empire 
only because they were in the service of France. 



KING OF PRUSSIA. 221 

That she is so far from disturbing the peace of the 
empire, that the only commotions now raised in it are 
the effect of the armaments of the king of Prussia. 

Nothing is more tedious than publick records, when 
they relate to affairs which by distance of time or place 
lose their power to interest the reader. Every thing 
grows little as it grows remote; and of things thus di- 
minished, it is sufficient to survey the aggregate with- 
'out a minute examination of the parts. 

It is easy to perceive, that, if the king of Prussia's rea- 
sons be sufficient, ambition or animosity can never 
want a plea for violence and invasion. What he charges 
upon the queen of Hungary, the waste of dountry, the 
expulsion of the Bavarians, and the employment of fo- 
reign troops, is the unavoidable consequence of a war 
inflamed on either side to the utm.ost violence. All these 
grievances subsisted when he made the peace, and there- 
fore they could very little justify its breach. 

It is true, that every prince of the empire is obliged 
to support the Imperial dignity, and assist the emperor 
when his rights are violated. And every subsequent con- 
tract must be understood in a sense consistent with for- 
mer obligations. Nor had the king power to make a peace 
on terms contrary to that constitution by which he held 
a place among the Germanick electors. But he could have 
easily discovered that not the emperor but the Duke of 
Bavaria was the queen*s enemy; not the administrator 
of the imperial power, but the claimant of the Austrian 
dominions. Nor did his allegiance to the emperor, sup- 
posing the emperor injured, oblige him tu more than a 
succour of ten thousand men. But ten thousand men 
could not conquer Bohemia, and without the conquest of 
Bohemia, he could receive no reward for the zeal and 
fidelity which he so loudly professed. 

The success of this enterprize he had taken all possi- 
ble precaution to secure. He was to invade a country 



222 KING OF PRUSSIA. 

guarded only by the faith of treaties, and therefore left 
unarmed and unprovided of all defence. ?Ie had engaged 
the French to attack Prince Charles before he should 
repass the Rhine, by which the Austrians would at least 
have been hindered from a speedy march into Bohemia: 
they were likewise to yield him such other assistance as 
he might want. 

Relying therefore upon the promises of the French, 
he resolved to attempt the ruin of the house of Austria, 
and in August 1744 broke into Bohemia at the head of 
an hundred and four thousand men. When he entered 
the country, he published a proclamation, promising, 
that his army should observe the strictest discipline, and 
that those who made no resistance should be suffered to 
remain at quiet in their habitations. He required that all 
arms, in the custody of whomsoever they might be pla- 
ced, should be given up, and put into the hands of pub- 
lick officers. He still declared himself to act only as an 
auxiliary to the emperor, and with no other design than 
to establish peace and tranquillity throughout Germany, 
his dear country. 

In this proclamation there is one paragraph of which 
I do not remember any precedent. He threatens, that, 
if any peasant should be found with arms, he shall be 
hanged without further enquiry; and that, if any lord 
shall connive at his vassals keeping arms in their custody, 
his village shall be reduced to ashes. 

It is hard to find upon what pretence the king of 
Prussia could treat the Bohemians as criminals, for pre- 
paring to defend their native country, or maintaining their 
allegiance to their lawful sovereign against an invader, 
whether he appears principal or auxiliary, whethei' he 
professes to intend tranquillity or confusion. 

His progress was such as gave great hopes. to the ene- 
mies of Austria: like Caesar, he conquered as he advanc- 
ed, and met with no opposition till he reached the walls 



KING OF PRUSSIA. 223. 

of Prague. The indignation and resentment of the queen 
of Hungary may be easily conceived; the alliance of 
Frankfort was now laid open to all Europe; and the 
partition of the Austrian dominions was again publickly 
projected. They were to be shared among the emperor, 
the king of Prussia, the elector Palatine, and the 
Landgrave of Hesse. All the powers of Europe who had 
dreamed of controlling France, were awakened to their 
former terrors; all that had been done was now to be 
done again; and every court, from the Straits of Gibraltar 
to the Frozen Sea, was filled with exultation or terror, 
with schemes of conquest or precautions for defence. 

The king, delighted with his progress, and expecting, 
like other mortals elated with success, that his prosperi- 
ty could not be interrupted, continued his march, and 
began in the latter end of September the siege of Prague. 
He had gained several of the outer posts, when he was 
informed that the convoy which attended his artillery 
was attacked by an unexpected party of the Austrians. 
The king went immediately to their assistance with a 
third part of his army, and found his troops put to flight, 

and the Au3triana hasting awtiy with his canUOUS: SUch a 

loss would have disabled him at once. He fell upon the 
Austri^^ 3, whose number would not enable them to with- 
stand him, recovered his artillery, and having also defeat- 
ed Bathiani, raised his batteries; and there being no artil- 
lery to be placed against him, he destroyed a great part 
of the city.' He then ordered four attacks to be made at 
once, and reduced the besieged to such extremities, that 
in fourteen days the governor was obliged to yield the 
place. 

At the attack commanded by Schwerin, a granadier 
is reported to have mounted the bastion alone, and to 
have defended himself for some time with his sword, till 
his followers mounted after him; for this act of braverv. 



224 ' KING OF PRUSSIA. 

the king made him a lieutenant, and gave him a patent 
©f nobility. 

Nothing now remained but that the Austrians should 
lay aside all thought of invading France, and apply theii\ 
whole power to their own defence. Prince Charles, at 
the first newsof the Prussian invasion, prepared to repass 
the Rhine. This the French, according to their contract' 
\vith the king of Prussia, should have attempted to hinder; 
but they knew by experience the Austrians would not 
be beaten without resistance, and that resistance always 
incommodes an assailant. As the king of Prussia rejoic- 
ed in the distance of the Austrians, whom he considered 
as entangled in the French territories; the French re- 
joiced in the necessity of their return, and pleased them- 
selves with the prospect of easy conquests, while powers 
whom they considered with equal malevolence should 
be employed in massacring each other. 

Prince Charles took the opportunity of bright moon- 
shine to repass the Rhine; and Noailles, who had early 
intelligence of his motions, gave him very little disturb- 
ance, but contented himself with attackingthe rear-guard, 

and when they retired to the main body ceased his pur- 
suit. 

The king, upon the reduction of Prague, struck a 
medal, which had on one side a plan of the town, with 
this inscription; 

" Prague taken by the king of Prussia, 

September 16, 1744; 

" For the third time in three years.*' 

On the other side were two verses in which he prayed, 
«* That his conquests might produce peace." He then 
marched forward with the rapidity which constitutes his 
military character, took possession of almost all Bohemia. 



KING OF PRUSSIA. 225 

and began to talk of entering Austria and besieging Vi- 
enna. 

The queen was not yet wholly without resource. Tlie 
Elector of Saxony, whether invited or not, was not com- 
prised in the union of Frankfort; and as every sovereign 
is growing less as his next neighbour is growing greater, 
he could not heartily wish success to. a confederacy which 
was to aggrandize the other powers of Germany. The 
Prussians gave him likewise a particular and immediate 
provocation to oppose them; for, when they departed to 
the conquest of Bohemia, with all the elation of imagi- 
nary success, they passed through his dominions with 
unlicensed and contemptuous disdain of his authority. 
As the approach of Prince Charles gave a new prospect 
of events, he was.easily persuaded to enter into an alliance 
with the queen, whom he furnished with a very large 
body of troops. 

The king of Prussia having left a garrison in Prague, 
which he commanded to put the burghers to death if 
they left their houses in the night, went forward to take the 
other towns and fortresses, expecting, perhaps, that 
prince Charles would be interrupted in his march; but 
the French though they appeared to follow him, either 
could not or would not overtake him. 

In a short time by marches pressed on with the utmost 
eagerness, Charles reached Bohemia, leaving the Bava- 
rians to regain the possession of the wasted plains *of 
their country, which their enemies, who still kept the 
strong places, might again seize at will. At the approach 
of the Austrian army the courage of the king of Prussia 
seemed to have failed him. He retired from post to post, 
and evacuated town after town and fortress after fortress, 
without resistance, as if he was resigning them to the 
rightful owners. 

It might have been expected that he should have 
made some effort to rescue Prague; but after a faint 

K2 



226 KING OF PRUSSIA. 

attempt to dispute the passage of the Elbe, he ordered 
his garrison of eleven thousand men to quit the place. 
They left behind them their magazines and heavy artil- 
lery, among which were seven pieces of remarkable ex- 
cellence, called the seven electors. But they took with 
them their field cannon and a great number of carriages 
laden with stores and plunder, which they were forced 
to leave in their way to the Saxons and Austrians that 
harassed their march. They at last entered Silesia with 
the loss of about a third part. 

The king of Prussia suffered much in his retreat; for, 
besides the military stores, which he left every where 
behind him, even to the clothes of his troops, there was 
a want of provisions in his army, and consequently fre- 
quent desertions and many diseases; and a soldier sick 
or killed was equally lost to a flying army. 

At last he reentered his own territories, and having 
stationed his troops in places of security, returned for a 
lime to Berlin, where he forbad all to speak either ill or 
well of the campaign. 

To what end such a prohibition could conduce it is 
difficult to discover: there is no country in which men 
can be forbidden to know what they know, and what is 
universally known may as well be spoken. It is true, that 
in popular governments seditious discourses may in- 
flame the vulgar; but in such governments they cannot 
be restrained, and in absolute monarchies they are of 
little effect. 

When the Prussians invaded Bohemia, and this whole 
nation was fired with resentment, the king of England 
gave orders in his palace that none should mention his 
nephew with disrespect; by this command he maintained 
the decency necessary between princes, without enforc- 
ing, and probably without expecting obedience but in his 
own presence. 

The king of Prussia's edict regarded only himself; 



KING OF PRUSSIA. 227 

and therefore it is difficult to tell what was his motive, 
unless he intended to spare himself the mortification of 
absurd and illiberal flattery, which, to a mind stung with 
disgrace, must have been in the highest degree painful 
and disgusting. 

Moderation in prosperity is a virtue very difficult to 
all mortals; forbearance of revenge, when revenge is 
within reach, is scarcely ever to be found among princes. 
Now was the time when the queen of Hungary might 
perhaps have made peace on her own terms; but keen- 
ness of resentment, and arrogance of success, withheld 
her from the due use of the present opportunity. It is 
said, that the king of Prussia in his retreat sent letters 
to prince Charles, which were supposed to contain ample 
concessions, but were sent back unopened. The king of 
England offered likewise to mediate between them; but 
his propositions were rejected at Vienna, where a resolu- 
tion was taken not only to revenge the interruption of 
their success on the Rhine by the recovery of Silesia, 
but to reward the Saxons for their seasonable help by 
giving them part of the Prussian dominions. 

In the beginning of the year 1745 died the emperor 
Charles of Bavaria; the treaty of Frankfort was conse- 
quently at an end; and the king of Prussia, being no 
longer able to maintain the character of auxiliary to the 
emperor, and having avowed no other reason for the 
war, might have honourably withdrawn his forces, and 
on his own principles have complied with terms of peace; 
but no terms were offered him; the queen pursued him 
with the utmost ardour of hostility, and the French left 
him to his own conduct, and his own destiny. 

His Bohemian conquests were already lost; and he was 
now chased back into Silesia, where, at the beginning of 
the year, the war continued in an equilibration by alter- 
nate losses and advantages. In April, the elector of Ba- 
varija seeing his dominions over-run by the Austrians, 



S28 KING OF PRUSSIA. 

and receiving very little succour from the French, made 
a peace with the queen of Hungary upon easy conditions, 
and the Austrians had more troops to employ against 
Prussia. 

But the revolutions of war will not suffer human pre- 
sumption to remain long unchecked. The peace with 
Bavaria was scarcely concluded when the battle of Fon- 
tenoy was lost, and all the allies of Austria called upon 
her to exert her utmost power for the preservation of 
the Low Countries; and, a few days after the loss at 
Fontenoy, the first battle between the Prussians and the 
combined army of Austrians and Saxons was fought at 
Niedburg in Silesia. 

The particulars of this battle were variously reported 
by the different parties, and published in the journals of 
that time; to transcribe them would be tedious and use- 
less, because accounts of battles are not easily under- 
stood, and because there are no means of determining 
to which of the relations credit should be given. It is 
sufHcient that they all end in claiming or allowing a 
complete victory to the king of Prussia, who gained all 
the Austrian artillery, killed four thousand, took seven 
thousand prisoners, with the loss, according to the Prus- 
sian narrative, of only sixteen hundred men. 

He now advanced again into Bohemia, where, however, 
he made no great progress. The queen of Hungary 
though defeated, was not subdued. She poured in her 
troops from all parts to the reinforcement of prince 
Charles, and determined to continue the struggle with 
all her power. The king saw that Bohemia was an un- 
pleasing and inconvenient theatre of war, in which he 
should be ruined by a miscarriage, and should get little 
by a victory. Saxony was left defenceless, and if it was 
conquered might be plundered. 

He therefore published a declaration against the elec* 
tor of Saxony, and, without waiting for reply, invaded 



KING OF PRUSSIA. 229 

his dominions. This invasion produced another battle at 
Standentz, which ended as the former, to the advantage 
of the Prussians. The Austrians had some advantage in 
the beginning; and their irregular troops, who are always 
daring, and are always ravenous, broke into the Prussian 
camp, and carried away the military chest. But this was 
easily repaired by the spoils of Saxony. 

The queen of Hungary was still inflexible, and hoped 
that fortune would at last change. She recruited once 
more her army, and prepared to invade the territories 
©f Brandenburgh; but the king of Prussia's activity pre- 
vented all her designs. One part of his forces seized 
Leipsic, and the other once more defeated the Saxons; 
the king of Poland fled from his dominions, prince 
Charles retired into Bohemia. The king of Prussia en- 
tered Dresden as a conqueror, exacted very severe con- 
tributions from the whole country, and the Austrians 
and Saxons were at last compelled to receive from him 
such a peace as he would grant. He imposed no severe 
conditions except the payment of the contributions, made 
no new claim of dominions, and, with the elector Pala- 
tine, acknowledged the duke of Tuscany for emperor. 

The lives of princes, like the histories of nations, have 
their periods. We shall here suspend our narrative of 
the king of Prussia, who was now at the height of hu- 
man greatness, giving laws to his enemies, and courted 
by all the powers of Europe. 



13 11 O W N E. 



X HOUGH the writer of the following Essays* seems 
to have had the fortune, comnion among men of letters, 
of raising little curiosity after his private life, and has, 
therefore, few memorials preserved of his felicities and 
misfortunes; yet because an addition of a posthumous 
work appears imperfect and neglected, without some 
account of the author, it was thought necessary to attempt 
the gratification of that curiosity which naturally inquires 
by what peculiarities of nature or fortune eminent men 
have been distinguished, how uncommon attainments 
have been gained, and what influence learning had on its 
possessors, or virtue on its teachers. 

SIR THOMAS BROWNE was born at London, in 
the parish of St. Michael in Cheapside, on the 19th of 
October, 1 605. t His father was a merchant of an ancient 
family at Upton in Cheshire. Of the name or family of 
his mother I find no account. 

Of his childhood or youth there is little known, except 
that he lost his father very early; that he was according 

* " Christian Morals," first printed in 1756. H. 
f Life of Sir Thomas Browne, prefixed to the Antiquities of 
Norwich. 



BROWNE. 231 

to the common* fate of orphans defrauded by one of his 
guardians; and that he was placed for his education at 
the school of Winchester. 

His mother having taken f three thousand pounds as 
the third part of her husband's property, left her son, by 
consequence, six thousand, a large fortune for a man 
destined to learning at that time, when commerce had 
not yet filled the nation with nominal riches. But it hap- 
pened to him as to many others, to be made poorer by 
opulence; for his mother soon married Sir Thomas But- 
ton, probably by the inducement of her fortune; and he 
was left to the rapacity of his guardian, deprived now of 
both his parents, and therefore helpless and unprotected. 

He was removed in the beginning of the year 1623 
from Winchester to Oxford,:^ and entered a gentleman- 
commoner of Broadgate-hall, which was soon afterwards 
endowed, and took the name of Pembroke-College, from 
the Earl of Pembroke, then chancellor of the University. 
He was admitted to the degree of Bachelor of Arts, 
January 31, 1626-7; being as Wood remarks, the first 
man of eminence graduated from the new college, to 
which the zeal or gratitude of those that love it most 
ean wish little better than that it may long proceed as it 
began. 

Having afterwards taken his degree of Master of Art«, 
he turned his studies to physick, § and practised it for 
some time in Oxfordshire: but soon afterwards, either 
induced by curiosity, or invited by promises, he quitted 
his settlement, and accompanied his|| father-in-law, who 
had some employment in Ireland, in a visitation of the 

* Whitefoot's character of Sir Thomas Browne, in a marginal 
note. 

f Life of Sir Thomas Browne. 

X Wood's Athenae Oxonienses. §Wood. 

jl Life of Sir Thomas Browne. 



232 BROWNE. 

forts and castles, which the state of Ireland then made 
Hecessary. 

He that has once prevailed on himself to break his 
connections of acquaintance, and begin a wandering life, 
very easily continues it. Ireland had, at that time, very 
little to offer to the observation of ar man of letters: he, 
therefore, passed* into France and Italy: made some 
stay at Montpelier and Padua, which were then the cele- 
brated schools of physick; and returning home through 
Holland, procured himself to be created doctor of Phy- 
sick at Leyden. 

When he began his travels, or when. he concluded 
them, there is no certain account; nor do there remain 
any observations made by him in his passage through 
those countries which he visited. To consider, therefore, 
what pleasure or instruction might have been received 
from the remarks of a man so curious and diligent, would 
be voluntarily to indulge a painful reflection, and load 
the imagination with a wish which, while it is formed, 
is known to be vain. It is, however, to be lamented, that 
those who are most capable of improving mankind, very 
frequently neglect to communicate their knowledge; 
either because it is more pleasing to gather ideas than to 
impart them, or because to minds naturally great, few 
things appear of so much importance as to deserve the 
notice of the publick. 

About the year 1634,t he is supposed to have returned 
to London; and the next year to have written his celebra- 
ted treatise, called Religio Medici, "The religion of a 
physician,"! which he declares himself never to have 
intended for the press, having composed it only for his 
©wn exercise and entertainment. It, indeed, contains 

* Life of Sir Thomas Browne, 
f Biographica Britannica. 

i^ Letter to Sir Kenelm Digby, prefixed to the Religio MedicH 
folio edition. 



BROWNE. 233 

many passages, which relating merely to his own per- 
son, can be of no great importance to the publick: but 
when it was written, it happened to him as to others, he 
was too much pleased with his performance, not to think 
that it might please others as much; he, therefore, com- 
municated it to his friends, and receiving, I suppose, that 
exuberant applause with which every man repays the 
grant of perusing a manuscript, he was not very diligent 
to obstruct his own praise by recalling his papers, but 
suffered them to wander from hand to hand, till at last, 
without his own consent, they were in 1642 given to a 
printer. 

This has, perhaps, sometimes befallen others; and this, 
I am willing to believe, did really happen to Dr. Browne: 
but there is surely some reason to doubt the truth of the 
complaint so frequently made of surreptitious editions. 
A song or an epigram, may be easily printed without the 
author's knowledge; because it may be learned when it 
is repeated, or may be written out with very little trouble: 
but a long treatise, however elegant, is not often copied 
by mere zeal or curiosity, but may be worn out in pas- 
sing from hand to hand, before it is multiplied by a trans- 
cript. It is easy to convey an imperfect book by a distant 
hand, to the press, and plead the circulation of a false 
copy as an excuse for publishing the true, or to correct 
what is found faulty or offensive, and charge the errors 
on the transcriber's depravations. 

This is a stratagem, by which an author, panting for 
fame, and yet afraid of seeming to challenge it, may 
at once gratify his vanity, and preserve the appearance 
of modesty; may enter the lists, and secure a retreat: 
and this candour might suffer to pass undetected as an 
innocent fraud, but that indeed no fraud is innocent; for 
the confidence which makes the happiness of society is 
in some degree diminished by every man whose practice 
is at variance with his words. 



234 BROWNE. 

The Religio Medici was no sooner published than it 
excited the attention of the publick by the novelty of pa- 
radoxes, the dignity of sentiment, the quick succession 
ofimages,the multitude of abstruse allusions, the subtlety 
of disquisition, and the strength of language. 

What is much read will be much criticised. The earl 
of Dorset recommended this book to the perusal of Sir 
Kenelm Digby, who returned bis judgment upon it, not 
in a letter, but a book; in which, though mingled with 
some positions fabulous and uncertain, there are acute 
remarks, just censures and profound speculations: yet its 
principal claim to admiration is, that * it was written in 
twenty-four hours, of which part was spent in procuring 
Browne's book, and part in reading it. 

Of these animadversions, when they were yet not all 
printed, either officiousness or malice informed Dr. 
Browne; who wrote to Sir Kenelm with much softness 
and ceremony, declaring the unworthiness of his work 
to engage such notice, the intended privacy of the com- 
posiuon, and the corruptions of the impression; and re- 
ceived an answer equally genteel and respectful, contain- 
ing high commendations of ihe piece, pompous profes- 
sions of reverence, meek acknowledgments of inability^ 
and anxious apologies for the hastiness of his remarks. 

The reciprocal civility of authors is one of the most 
risible scenes in the farce of life. Who would not have 
thought, that these two luminaries of their age had 
ceased to endeavour to grow bright by the obscuration of 
each other? yet the animadversions thus weak, thus pre- 
cipitate, upon a book thus injured in the transcription, 
quickly passed the press; and Ueligio Medici was more 
accurately published, with an admonition prefixed " to 
those who have or shall peruse the observations upon a 

* Digby's letter to Browne, prefixed to the J^cligio Medici, fol 
edit. 



BROWNE. ' 235 

former corrupt copy;" in which there is a severe censure, 
not upon Digby, who was to be used with ceremony, but 
upon the observator who had usurped his name: nor was 
this invective written by Dr. Browne, who was supposed 
to be satisfied with his opponent's apology; but by some 
officious friend, zealous for his honour, without his 
consent. 

Browne has indeed, in his own preface, endeavoured 
to secure himself from rigorous examination, by alleg- 
ing, that " many things are delivered rhetorically, many 
expressions merely tropical, and therefore many things 
to be taken in a soft and flexible sense, and not to be cal- 
led unto the rigid test of reason." The first glance upon 
his book will indeed discover examples of this liberty of 
thought and expression: " I could be content," says he, 
" to be nothing almost to eternity, if I might enjoy my 
Saviour at the last." He has little acquaintance with the 
acuteness of Browne, who suspects him of a serious opin- 
ion, that any thing can be " almost eternal," or that any 
time beginning and ending, is not infinitely less than in- 
finite duration. 

In this book he speaks much, and, in the opinion of 
Digby, too much of himself; but with such generality 
and conciseness as affords very little light to his bio- 
grapher: he declares, that, besides the dialects of different 
provinces, he understood six languages; that he was no 
stranger to astronomy; and that he had seen several 
countries; but what most awakens curiosity is, his so- 
lemn assertion, " his life has been a miracle of thirty 
years; which to relate were not history, but a piece of 
poetry, and would sound like a fable." 

There is undoubtedly, a sense in which all life is mi- 
raculous; as it is an union of powers of which we can 
image no connection, a succession of motions of which 
the first cause must be supernatural: but life, thus ex- 
plained, whatever it may have of miracle, will have no- 
thing of fable; and, therefore the author undoubtedly had 



23G Browne. 

regard to something, by which he imagined himself 
distinguished from the rest of mankind. 

Of these wonders, however, the view that can be now 
taken of his life offers no appearance. The course of his 
education was like that of others, such as put him little 
in the way of extraordinary casualties. A scholastick and 
academical life is very uniform; and has, indeed, more' 
safety than pleasure. A traveller has greater opportuni- 
ties of adventure; but Browne traversed no unknown 
seas or Arabian deserts: and, surely, a man may visit 
France and Italy, reside at Montpelier and Padua, and 
at last take his degree at Leyden, without any thing mi- 
raculous. What it was that would, if it was related, sound 
so poetical and fabulous, we are left to guess; I believe 
without hope of guessing rightly. The wonders probably 
were transacted in his own mind; self-love, cooperating 
with an imagination vigorous and fertile as that of 
Browne, will find or make objects of astonishment in 
every man's life; and perhaps, there is no human being, 
however hid in the crowd from the observation of his 
fellow mortals, who, if he has leisure and disposition to 
recollect his own thoughts and actions, will not conclude 
his life in some sort a miracle, and imagine himself dis- 
tinguished from all the rest of his species by many discri- 
minations of nature ort)f fortune. 

The success of this performance was such as might 
naturally encourage the author to new undertakings. A 
gentleman of Cambridge*, whose name was Merry- 
weather, turned it not inelegantly into Latin; and from 
his version it was again translated into Italian, German, 
Dutch, and French; and at Strasburg the Latin transla- 
tion was published with large notes, by Lenuus Nicho- 
laus Molifarius. Of the English annotations, which in all 

*Life of Sir Thomas Brown« 



BROWNE. 237 

the editions from 1644 accompany the book, the author 
is unknown. 

Of Merryweather, to whose zeal Browne was so much 
indebted for the sudden extension of his renown, I know 
nothing, but that he published a small treatise for the 
instruction of young persons in the attainment of a Latin 
style. He printed his translation in Holland with some 
difficulty.* The first printer to whom he offered it car- 
ried it to Salmasius, " who laid it by," says he, " in state 
for three months,*' and then discouraged its publication: 
it was afterwards rejected by two other printers, and at 
last was received by Hakius. 

The peculiarities of this book raised the author, as is 
usual, many admirers and many enemies; but we know 
not of more than one professed answer, written under f 
the title of "Medicus Medicatus,'* by Alexander Hoss, 
which was universally neglected by the world. 

At the time when this book was published, Dr. Browne 
resided at Norwich, where he had settled in 1636, by| 
the persuasion of Dr.Lushington his tutor, who was then 
rector of Barnham Westgate in the neighbourhood It 
is recorded by Wood, that his practice was very exten- 
sive, and that many patients resorted to him. In 1637§ 
he was incorporated doctor of physick in Oxford. 

He married in 1641 || Mrs. Mileham, of a good family 
in Norfolk; "a lady," says White foot, of ''such sym- 
metrical proportion to her worthy husband, both in the 
graces of her body and mind, that they seemed to come 
together by a kind of natural magnetism." 

This marriage could not but draw the raillery of con- 
temporary wits** upon a man who had just been wishing 

* Merryweather's letter, inserted in the Life of Sir Thomas 
Browne, 

f Life of Sir Thomas Browne. 

^ Wood's Athenac Oxonienses. J Wood. fl Wliitefoot. 

** Howel's Letters. 



338 BROWNE. 

in his new book, <-' that we might procreate like trees, 
without conjunction;" and had * lately declared, that " the 
whole world was made for man, "but only the twelfth part 
of man for woman j" and, that " man is the whole world, 
but woman only " the rib or crooked part of man." 
. Whether the lady had been yet informed of these con- 
temptuous positions, or whether she was pleased with 
the conquest of so formidable a rebel, and considered it 
as a double triumph, to attract so much merit, and over- 
come so powerful prejudices; or whether, like most 
others, she married upon mingled motives, between con- 
venience and inclination; she had, however, no reason to 
repent, for she lived happily with him one-and-forty years, 
and bore him ten children, of whom one son and three 
daughters outlived their parents: she survived hrm two 
years, and passed her widowhood in plenty, if not in 
opulence. 

Browne having now entered the world as an author, 
and experienced the delights of praise and molestations 
of censure, probably found his dread of the publick eye 
diminished; and, therefore, was not long before he trusted 
his name to the criticks a second time: for in 1646 t he 
printed Enquiries into vulgar a?id conimon Errours; a 
work, which as it arose not from fancy and invention, but 
from observation and books, and, contained not a single 
discourse of one continued tenor, of which the latter part 
arose from the former, but an enumeration of many un- 
connected particulars, must have been the collection of 
years, and the effect of a design early formed and long 
pursued, to which his remarks had been continually 
referred, and which arose gradually to its present bulk by 
the daily aggregation of new particles of knowledge. It 
.is indeed to be wished, that he had longer delayed the 
publication, and added what the remaining part of his life 
might have furnished: the thirty six years which he 

*Religio Medici. f Life of Sir Thomas Browne. 



BROWNE. 2^9 

afterwards spent in study and experience, would doubtless 
have made large additions to an Enquiry into vulgar 
Errours. He published in 1673 the sixth edition, with 
some improvements; but I think rather with explication 
of what he had already written, than any new heads of 
disquisition. But with the work, such as the author, 
whether hindered from continuing it by eagerness of 
praise, or weariness of labour, thought fit to give, we must 
be content; and remember, that in all sublunary things 
there is something to be wished which we must wish in vain. 

This book, like his former, was received with great 
applause, was answered by Alexander Ross, and trans- 
lated into Dutch and German, and not many years ago 
into French. It might now be proper, had not the favour 
with which it was at first received filled the kingdom 
with copies, to reprint it with notes, partly supplemental, 
and partly emendatory, to subjoin those discoveries 
which the industry of the last age has made, and correct 
those mistakes which the author has committed not by 
idleness or negligence, but for want of Boyle's and New- 
ton's philosophy. 

He appears indeed to have been willing to pay labour 
for truth. Having heard a flying rumour of sympathetick 
needles, by which, suspended over a circular alphabet, 
distant friends or lovers might correspond, he procured 
two such alphabets to be made, touched his needles 
with the same magnet and placed them upon proper 
spindles: the result was that when he moved one of 
his needles, the other, instead of taking by sympathy 
the same direction, "stood like the pillars of Hercules." 
That it continued motionless, will be easily believed; and 
most men would have been content to believe it, without 
the labour of so hopeless an experiment. Browne might 
himself have obtained the same conviction by a method 
less operose, if he had thrust his needles through corks, 
and set them afloat in two basons of water. 



24« BROWNE. 

Notwithstanding his zeal to detect old errors, he seems 
not very easy to admit new positions: for he never men- 
tions the motion of the earth but with contempt and 
ridicule, thoui^h the opinion which admits it was then 
growing popular, and was surely plausible, even before 
it was confirmed by later observations. 

The reputation of Browne encouraged some low wri- 
ter to publish, under his name, a book called,* Miture*s 
Cabinet unlocked^ translated, according to Wood, from 
the physicks of Magirus; of which Browne took care 
to ciear himself, by modestly advertising, that " if any 
man t hud been benefited by it, he was not so ambitious 
as to challenge the honour thereof, as having no hand 
in that work." 

In 1 658 the discovery of some ancient urns in Norfolk 
gave him occasion to write Hydriotafihia^ Urn-burial^ or a 
Discourse of sefiulchral Urns^ in which he treats with his 
usual learning on the funeral riles of the ancient nations; 
exhibits their various treatment of the dead; and ex- 
amines the substances found in his Norfolican urns. 
There is perhaps, none of his works which better ex- 
emplifies his reading or memory. It is scarcely to be 
imagined, how many particulars he has amassed toge- 
ther, in a treatise which seems to have been occasionally 
written; and for which, therefore, no materials could 
have been previously collected. It is, indeed, like other 
treatises of antiquity, rather for curiosity than use; for 
it is of small importance to know, which nation buried 
their dead in the ground^ which threw them into the 
sea, or which gave them to birds and beasts: when the 
practice of cremation began, or when it was disused: 
whether the bones of different persons were mingled in 
the same urn; what oblations were thrown into the pyre; 

* Wood, and Life of Sir Thomas Browne, 
t At the end of Hydriotaphia. 



BROWNE. 241 

or how Ihe ashes of the body were distinguished from 
those of other substances. Of the uselessness of these 
enquiries, Browne seems not to have been ignorant; and, 
therefore, concludes them with an observation which can 
never be too frequently recollected: 

" All or most apprehensions rested in opinions of some 
future being, which, ignorantly or coldly believed, begat 
those perverted conceptions, ceremonies, sayings, which 
Christians pity or laugh at. Happy are they, which live 
not in that disadvantage of time, when men could say 
little for futurity, but from reason, whereby the noblest 
mind fell often upon doubtful deaths, and melancholy 
dissolutions: with these hopes Socrates warmed his 
doubtful spirits against the cold potion; and Cato, before 
he durst give the fatal stroke, spent part of the night in 
reading the immortality of Plato, thereby confirming 
his wavering hand unto the animosity of that attempt. 

" It is the heaviest stone that melancholy can throw 
at a man, to tell him he is at the end of his nature; or 
that there is no further state to come, unto which this 
seems progressional, and otherwise made in vain: with- 
out this accomplishment, the natural expectation and 
desire of such a state were but a fallacy in nature: un- 
satisfied considerators would quarrel at the justness of 
the constitution, and rest content that Adam had fallen 
lower, whereby, by knowing no other original, and deep- 
er ignorance of themselves, they might have enjoyed 
the happiness of inferior creatures, who in tranquillity 
possess their constitutions, as having not the apprehen- 
sion to deplore their own natures; and being framed be- 
low the circumference of these hopes of cognition of 
better things, the wisdom of God hath necessitated their 
contentment. But the superior ingredient and obscured 
part of ourselves, whereto all present felicities afford no 
resting contentment, will be able at last to tell us we are 

Vol. XII. L 



242 BROWNE. 

more than our present selveij; and evacuate such hopes 
in the fruition of their own accomplishments.'* 

To this treatise on Urn-burial was added The Garden 
ofCyruSf or the quinciinxial lozenge^ or net-work plantation 
of the Ancients^ artijicially^ rmturally^ myatically^ consi- 
dered. This discourse he begins with the Sacred Gar- 
den^ in which the first man was placed; and deduces the 
practice of horticulture from the earliest accounts of 
antiquity to the time of the Persian Cyrus^ the first 
man whom we actually know to have planted a quincunx; 
which, however, our author is inclined to believe of 
longer date, and not only discovers it in the description 
of the hanging gardens of Babylon, but seems willing to 
believe, and to persuade his reader, that it was practised 
by the feeders on vegetables before the flood. 

Some of the most pleasing performances have been 
produced by learning and genius exercised upon sub- 
jects of little importance. It seems to have been in all 
age's the pride of wit, to shew how it could exalt the 
low, and amplify the little. To speak not inadequately 
of things really and naturally great, is a task not only 
difficult but disagreeable; because the writer is degraded 
in his own eyes by standing in comparison with his, sub- 
ject, to which he can hope to add nothing from his ima- 
gination: but it is a perpetual triumph of fancy to expand 
a scanty theme, to raise glittering ideas from obscure 
properties, and to produce to the world an object of 
Avonder to which nature had contributed little To this 
ambition, perhaps, we owe the frogs of Homer, the gnat 
and the bees of Virgil, the butterfly of Spenser, the sha- 
dow of Wowerus, and the quincunx of Browne. 

In the prosecution of this sport of fancy, he considers 
every production of art and nature in which he could 
find any decussation or approaches to the form of a quin- 
cunx; and as a man once resolved upon ideal discoveries 
seldom searches long in vain, he finds his favourite figure 



BROWNE. 243 

iii almost every thing whether natural or invented, an- 
cient OP modern, rude or artificial, sacred and civil, so 
that a reader, not watchful against the power of his infu- 
sions, would imagine that decussation was the great bu- 
siness of the world, and that nature and art had no other 
purpose than to exemplify and imitate a quincunx. 

To shew the excellence of this figure he enumerates 
all its properties; and finds in it almost every thing of 
use and pleasure: and to shew how readily he supplies 
what he cannot find, one instance may be sufficient: 
" though therein (says he) we meet not with right an- 
gles, yet every rhombus containing four angles equal 
unto two right, it virtually contains two right in every 
one/* 

The fanciful sports of great minds are never without 
some advantage to knowledge. Browne has interspersed 
miany curious observations on the form of plants, and the 
laws of vegetation; and appears to have been a very accu- 
rate observer of the modes of germination, and to have 
watched with great nicety the evolution of the parts of 
plants from their seminal principles. 

He is then naturally led to treat of the number Five; and 
finds, that by this number many things are circumscribe 
ed; that there are five kinds of vegetable productions, 
five sections of a cone, five orders of architecture, and 
five acts of a play. And observing that five was the an- 
cient conjugal, or wedding number, he proceeds to a 
speculation which I shall give in his own words; " the 
ancient numerists made out the conjugal number by 
two and three, the first parity and imparity, the active 
and passive digits, the material and formal principles in 
generative societies." 

These are all the tracts which he published. But ma- 
ny papers were found in his closet: '' some of them? 
(says Whitefoot,) designed for the press, were often 



244 BROWNE. 

transcribed and corrected by his own hand, after the 
fashion of great and curious writers." 

Of these, two collections have been published; one by 
Dr. Tenison, the other in 1722 by a nameless editor. 
Whether the one or the other selected those pieces 
which the author would have preferred, cannot be. known: 
but they have both the merit of giving to mankind what 
was too valuable to be suppressed; and what might, 
without their interposition, have perhaps perished among 
other innumerable labours of learned men, or have been 
burnt in a scarcity of fuel like the papers of Pierecius. 

The first of these posthumous treatises contains Ob- 
servations upon several Plants mentioned in Scripture; 
these remarks, though they do not immediately either 
rectify the faith, or refine the morals of the reader, yet 
are by no means to be censured as superfluous niceties, 
or useless speculations; for they often shew some pro- 
priety of description, or elegance of allusion, utterably 
undiscoverable to readers not skilled in Oriental botany; 
and are often of more important use, as they remove 
some diflkulty from narratives, or some obscurity from 
precepts. 

The next is. Of Garlands^ or coro?iary and garland 
Plants; a subject merely of learned curiosity, without 
any other end than the pleasure of reflecting on ancient 
customs, or on the industry with which studious men 
have endeavoured to recover them. 

The next is a letter. On the Fishes eaten by our Sa- 
viour with his Disciples^ after his Resurrection from the 
dead; which contains no determinate resolution of the 
question, what they were, for indeed it cannot be deter- 
mined. All the information that diligence or learning 
could supply consists in an enumeration of the fishes 
produced in the v/aters of Judea. 

Then follow, ^nsivers to certain Queries about Fishes, 



BROWNE. 245 

Birdsj and Insects; and ^ Letter of Hawks and Falconry 
ancient and modern: in the first of which he gives the 
proper interpretation of some ancient names of animals, 
commonly mistaken; and in the other has some curious 
observations on the art of hawking, which he considers 
as a practice unknown to the ancients. 1 believe all our 
sports of the field are of Gothick original; the ancients 
neither hunted by the scent, nor seemed much to have 
practised horsemanship as an exercise; and though in 
their works there is mention of aucupium and fiiscatio^ 
they seem no more to have been considered as diver- 
sions than agriculture or any other manual labour. 

In two more letters he speaks of the cymbals of the 
Hebrews^ but without any satisfactory determination; and 
of rojialic or gradual verses, that is, of verses beginning 
with a word of one syllable, and proceeding by words of 
which each has a syllable more than the former; as, 

** O deus, aeterne stationis conciliator." Ausonius. 

and after this manner pursuing the hint, he mentions 
many other restrained methods of versifying, to which 
industrious ignorance has sometimes voluntarily sub- 
jected itself. 

His next attempt is. On Languages, and particularly 
the Saxon tongue. He discourses with great learning and 
generally with great justness, of the derivation and 
changes of languages; but, like other men of multifa- 
rious learning, he receives some notions without exami- 
nation. Thus he observes, according to the popular 
opinion, that the Spaniards have retained so much Latin 
as to be able to compose sentences that shall be at once 
grammatically Latin and Castilian: this will appear very 
unlikely to a man that considers the Spanish termina- 
tions; and Howel, who was eminently skilful in the three 



246 BROWNE. 

provincial languages, declares, that after many essays he 
never could effect it. 

The principal design of this letter is to shew the affi- 
nity between the modern English and the ancient Saxon; 
and he observes, very rightly, that " though we have 
borrowed many substantives, adjectives, and some verbs, 
from the French; yet the great body of numerals, auxili- 
ary verbs, articles, pronouns, adverbs, conjunctions, and 
prepositions, which are the distinguishing and lasting 
parts of a language, remain with us from the Saxon." 

To prove this position more evidently, he has drawn 
up a short discourse of six paragraphs, in Saxon and 
English; of which every word is the same in both lan- 
guages, excepting the terminations and orthography. 

The words are, indeed, Saxon, but the phraseology is 
English; and, I think, would not have been understood 
"by Bede or Elfric, notwithstanding the confidence of our 
author. He has^ however, sufficiently proved his posi- 
tion, that the English resembles its paternal language 
more than any modern European dialect. 

There remain five tracts of this collection yet unmen- 
tioned; one, Of artijicial Hills^ Mouiits^ or Barroivs, m 
England; in reply to an interrogatory letter of E. D. 
whom the writers of the Biographia Britannica suppose 
to be, if rightly pi'inted, W. D. or Sir William Dugdale, 
one of Browne's correspondents. These aro declared by 
Browne, in concurrence, I think, with all other antiqua- 
ries, to be for the most part funeral monuments. He 
proves, that both the Danes and Saxons buried their 
men of eminence under piles of earth, " which admit- 
ting (says he) neither ornament, epitaph, nor inscrip- 
tion, may, if earthquakes spare them, outlast other 
monuments: obelisks have their term, and pyramids will 
tumble; but these mountainous monuments may stand, 
and are like to have the same period with the earth." 



BROWNE. 247 

In the next he answers two geographical questions; one 
concerning Troas, mentioned in the Acts and Epistles 
of St. Paul, which he determines to be the city built near 
the ancient Ilium; andtheotherconcerning the Dead Sea, 
of which he gives the same account with other writers. 

Another letter treats Of the Amiuers of the Oracle of 
Afiollo^ at Dtlphos^ to Croesus king of Lydia. In this 
tract nothing deserves notice, more than that Browne 
considers the oracles as evidently and indubitably super- 
natural, and founds all his disquisition upon that postu- 
late. He wonders why the physiologists of old, having 
such means of instruction, did not enquire into the se- 
crets of nature: but judiciously poncludes, that such ques- 
tions would probably have been vain; " for in matters 
cognoscible, and formed for our disquisition, our indus- 
try must be our oracle, and reason our Apollo." 

The pieces that remain are, A Prophecy concerning 
the future State of several J\ations; in which . Browne 
plainly discovers his expectation to be the same with 
that entertained lately with more confidence by Dr. 
Berkelev, " that America will be the seat of the fifth 
empire:" and Museum clausu7n^ sive Bibliotheca abscondita; 
in which the author amuses himself with imagining the 
existence of books and curiosities, either never in being 
or irrecoverably lost. 

These pieces I have recounted as they are ranged in 
Tenison's collection, because the editor has given no 
account of the time at which any of them were written. 
Some of them are of little value, more than as they gra- 
tify the mind with the picture of a great scholar, turning 
his learning into amusement; or shew upon how great a 
variety of enquiries the same mind has been successfully 
employed. 

The other collection of his posthumous pieces, pub- 
lished in octavo, London, 1722, contains Refiertorium; 



::48 BROWNE. 

<?r some account of the Tombs and AIonu?nents in the Cu' 
thedval of JVornvich; where, as Tenison observes, there is 
not matter proportionate to the skill of the antiquary. 

The other pieces are, " Answers to Sir William 
Dugdale's enquiries about the Fens; a letter concerning 
Ireland; another relating to Urns newly discovered; 
some short strictures on different subjects; and a letter 
to a friend on the death of his intimate friend," publish- 
ed singly by the author*s son in 1690. 

There is inserted, in the Biographia Britannica, " a 
letter containing instructions for ihe study of physick," 
which, with the essays here offered to the publick, com- 
pletes the works of Dr. Browne. 

To the life of this learned man there remains little to 
be added, but that in 1665 he was chosen honorary fellow 
of the college of physicians, as a man," Virtute et Uteris 
ornatissimus; — eminently embellished with literature 
and virtue:" and, in 1671, received, at Norwich, the 
honour of knighthood from Charles II. a prince, who, 
with many frailties and vices, had yet skill to discover 
excellence, and virtue to reward it with such honorary 
distinctions at least as cost him nothing, yet, conferred 
by a king so judicious, and so much beloved, had the 
power of giving merit ftew lustre and greater popularity. 

Thus he lived in high reputation, till in his seventy- 
sixth year he Avas seized with a cholick, which after 
having tortured him about a week, put an end to his life, 
at Norwich, on his birthday, October 19, 1682.* Some 
of his last words were expressions of submission to the 
will of God, and fearlessness of death. 

He lies buried in the church of St. Peter, Mancroft, 
in Norwich, with this inscription on a mural monument, 
placed on the south pillar of the altar. 

* Browne's Remains. Whitefoot. 



BROWNE. 24:9 

M. S. 

Hie situs est THOMAS BROWNE, M. D. 

Et miles. 

Anno 1605, Londini natus; 

Gcneros^ familia apud Upton 

In agro Cestriensi roiundus. 

Schola primum Wintoniensi, postea 

In Coll. Pembr. 

Apud Oxonienses bonis Uteris 

Haud leviter imbutus; 

In urbe hac Nordovicensi medicinam 

Arte egregia, 8c fselici successu professus; 

Scriptis qiiibus tituli, Religio Medici 

Et PsEUDODOxiA Epidemica alilsquc 

Per orbem notissimus. 

Vir pn^dentissimus, integerrimus, doctissimiis; 

- Obiit Octob. 19, 1682. 

Pie posuit mcestissima conjux 

Da. Doroth. Br. 

Near the foot of this pillar 
Lies Sir Thomas Browne, knt. and doctor in physick, 
Author of Religio Medici, and other learned books, 
Who practised physick in this city 46 years, 
And died Oct. 1682, in the 77th year of his age. 
In memory of whom, 
Dame Dorothy Browne, who had been his affection- 
ate Wife 47 years, caused this monument to be 
Erected. 

Beside this lady, who died in 1685, he left a son and 
three daughters. Of the daughters nothing very remark- 
able is known; but his son, Edward Browne, requires a 
particular mention. 

He was born about the year 1642; and, after having 

passed through the classes of the school at Norwich, he 

became bachelor of physick at Cambridge; and, afterwards 

L2 



250 BROWNE. 

removing to Merton College in Oxford, was admitted 
there to the same degree, and afterwards made a doctor. 
In 1668 he visited part of Germany; and in the year 
following made a wider excursion into Austria, Hun- 
gary, and Thessaly; where. the Turkish sultan then kept 
his court at Larissa. He afterwards passed through Italy. 
His skill in natural history made him particularly atten- 
tive to mines and metallurgy. Upon his return he publish- 
ed an account of the countries through which he had 
passed; which I have heard commended by a learned 
traveller, who has visited many places after him, as 
written with scrupulous and exact veracity, such as is 
scarcely to be found in any other book of the same kind. 
But whatever it may contribute to the instruction of a 
naturalist, I cannot recommend it as likely to give much 
pleasure to common readers; for whether it be that the 
world is very uniform, and therefore he who is resolved 
to adhere to truth will have few novelties to relate; or 
that Dr. Browne was, by the train of his studies, led to 
enquire most after those things by which the greatest 
part of mankind is little affected; a great part of his book 
seems to contain "very unimportant accounts of his pas- 
sage from one place where he saw little, to another 
where he saw no more. 

Upon his return he practised physick in London; was 
made physician first to Charles H. and afterwards, in 
1 682, to St. Bartholomew's hospital. About the same time ,g 
he joined his name to those of many other eminent men, 
in " a translation of Plutarch's Lives." He was first cen- 
sor, then elect, and treasurer of the College of Physicians; 
of which in 1705 he was chosen president, and held his 
office till, in 1708, he died, in a degree of estimation 
suitable to a man so variously accomplished, that king 
Charles had honoured him with this pariegyrick, that 
''^ he was as learned as any of the College, and as well- 
bred as any of the court." 



BROWNE. 251 

Of every great and eminent character part breaks forth 
into publick view, and part lies hid in domestick privacy. 
Those qualities which have been exerted in any known 
and lasting performances, may, at any distance of time, 
be traced and estimated; but silent excellences are soon 
forgotten; and those minute peculiarities which dis- 
criminate every man from all others, if they are not re- 
corded by those whom personal knowledge enables to 
observe them, are irrecoverably lost. This mutilation of 
character must have happened, among many others, to 
Sir Thomas Browne, had it not been delineated by his 
friend Mr. Whitefoot, " who esteemed it an especial 
favour of Providence, to have had a particular acquaint 
tance with him, for two thirds of his life." Part of his ob- 
servations I shall therefore copy. 

" For a character of his person, his complexion and 
hair was answerable to his name; his stature was mode- 
rate, and a habit of body neither fat nor lean but gyV<eg«o$. 

" In his habit of clothing he had an aversion to all 
finery, and affected plainness both in the fashion and 
ornaments. He ever wore a cloak, or boots, when few 
others did. He kept himself always very warm, and 
thought it most safe so to do, though he never loaded 
himself with such a multitude of garments, as Suetoinus 
reports of Augustus, enough to clothe a good family. 

" The horizon of his understanding was much larger 
than the hemisphere of the world: all that was visible in 
the heavens he comprehended so well, that few that are 
under them knew so much: he could tell the number of 
the visible stars in his horizon, and call them all by their 
names that had any; and of the earth he had such a 
minute and exact geographical knowledge, as if he had 
been by Divine Providence ordained surveyor-general 
of the whole terrestrial orb, and its products, minerals, 
plants, and animals. He was so curious a botanist, that, 



252 BROWNE. 

besides the specifical distinctions, he made nice and 
elaborate observations, equally useful as entertaining. 

" His memory, though not so eminent as that of 
Seneca or Scaliger, was capacious and tenacious, inso- 
much as he remembered all that was remarkable in any 
book that he had read; and not only knew all persons 
again that he had ever seen at any distance of time, but 
remembered the circumstances of their bodies, and their 
peculiar discourses and speeches. 

" In the Latin poets he remembered every thing that 
was acute and pungent; he had read most of the histo- 
rians, ancient and modern, wherein his observations were 
singular, not taken notice of by common readers; he 
was excellent company when he was at leisure, and ex- 
pressed more light than heat in the temper of his brain. 

'^ He had no despotical power over bis affections and 
passions (that was a privilege of original perfection, for- 
feited by the neglect of the use of it,) but as large a poli- 
tical power over them as any stoick, or man of his time, 
whereof he gave so great experiment that he hath very 
rarely been known to have been overcome with any of 
them. The strongest that were found in him, both of the 
irascible and concupiscible, were under the control of 
his reason. Of admiration, which is one of them, being 
the only product either of ignorance or uncommon know- 
ledge, he had more and less than other men, upon the 
same account of his knowing more than others; so that 
though he met with many rarities, he admired them not 
so much as others do. 

" He was never seen to be transported with mirth, or 
dejected with sadness; always cheerful but rarely merry, 
at any sensible rate; seldom heard to break a jest, and, 
when he did, he would be apt to blush at the levity of it: 
his gravity was natural, without affectation. 

^' His modesty was visible in a natural habitual blush', 



BROWNE. 

which was increased upon the least occasion, and oft i- ^ 
covered without any observable cause. 

" They that knew no more of him than by the briskness 
of his writings, found themselves deceived in their ex- 
pectation, when they came in company, noting the gravity 
and sobriety of his aspect and conversation: so free from 
locjuacity or much talkativeness, that he was sometimes 
difficult to be engaged in any discourse; though when he 
was so, it was always singular, and never trite or vulgar. 
Parsimonious in nothing but his time, whereof he made 
as much improvement with as little loss as any man in 
it; when he had any to spare from his drudging practice, 
he was scarce patient of any diversion from his study; so 
impatient of sloth and idleness, that he would say he could 
not do nothing. 

"Sir Thomas understood most of the European lan- 
guages; viz. all that are in Flutter's Bible, which he made 
use of. The Latin and Greek he understood critically; 
the Oriental languages, which never were vernacular in 
this part of the world, he thought the use of them would 
not answer the time and pains of learning them; yet had 
so great a veneration for the matrix of them, viz. the 
Hebrew, consecrated to the oracles of God, that he wa« 
not content to be totally ignorant of it; though very little 
of his science is to be found in any books of that 
primitive language. And though much is said to be 
written in the derivative idioms of that tongue, especially 
the Arabick, yet he was satisfied with the translations, 
wherein he found nothing admirable. 

" In his religion he continued in the same mind which 
he had declared in his first book, written when he was 
but thirty years old, his Religio Medici, wherein he fully 
assented to that of the church of England, preferring it 
before any in the world, as did the leai'ned Grotius. He 
attended the publick service very constantly, when he 



254 BROWNE, 

was not withheld by his practice; never missed the sacra- 
ment in his parish, if he were in town; read the best 
English sermons he could hear of, with liberal applause; 
and delighted not in controversies. In his last sickness, 
wherein he continued about a week's time, enduring 
great pain of the colick, besides a continual fever, with 
as much patience as hath been seen in any man, without 
any pretence of stoical apathy, animosity, or vanity of 
not being concerned thereat, or suffering no impeach- 
ment of happiness 'N'ihil agis-^ dolor. 

"His patience was founded upon the Christian philo- 
sophy, and a sound faith of God's providence, and a meek 
and holy submission thereunto, which he expressed in 
few words. I visited him near his end, when he had not 
strength to hearQrspeakmuch;thelast words which I heard 
from him were, besides some expressions of dearness, 
that he did freely submit to the will of God, being with- 
out fear: he had often triumphed over the King of Ter- 
rors in others, and given many repulses in the defence 
of patients; but when his own turn came, he submitted 
with a meek, rational, and religious courage. 

"He might have made good the old saying of Dat 
Galenus o/iesy had he lived in a place that could have 
afforded it. But his indulgence and liberality to his chil- 
dren, especially in their travels, two of his sons in divers 
countries, and two of his daughters in France, spent him 
more than a little. He was liberal in his house-entertain- 
ments and in his charity; he left a comfortable, but no 
great estate, both to his lady and children, gained by his 
own industry. 

Such was his sagacity and knowledge of all history, 
ancient and modern, and his observations thereupon so 
singular, that it hath been said, by them that knew him 
best, that if his profession, and place of abode would have 
suited his ability, he would have made an extraordinary 
man for the privy-council, not much inferior to the 



BROWNE. 255 

famous Pedre Paulo, the late oracle of tlie Venetian 
state. 

"Though he were no prophet, nor son of a prophet, 
yet in that faculty which comes nearest it he excelled, 
i. e. the stochastick, wherein he was seldom mistaken, as 
to future events, as well publick as private; but not apt 
to discover any presages or superstition.'* 

It is observable, that he who in his earlier years had 
read all the books against religion, was in the latter part 
of his life averse from controversies. To play with im- 
portant truths, to disturb the repose of established tenets, 
to subtilize objections, and elude proof, is too often the 
sport of youthful vanity, of which maturer experience 
commonly repents. There is a time when every man is 
weary of raising difficulties only to task himself with the 
solution, and desires to enjoy truth without the labour 
or hazard of contest. There is, perhaps no better method 
of encountering these troublesome irruptions of sceptism, 
with which inquisitive minds are frequently harassed, 
than that which Browne declares himself to have taken: 
"If there arise any doubts in my way, I do forget them; or 
at least defer them, till my better settled judgment, and 
more manly reason, be able to resolve them: for I per- 
ceive every man's reason is his best CRdi/ius, and will, 
upon a reasonable truce, find a way to loose those bonds, 
wherewith the subtleties of error have enchained our 
more flexible and tender judgments." 

The foregoing character may be confirmed and en- 
larged by many passages in the Religio Medici; in which 
it appears, from Whitefoot's testimony, that the author, 
though no very sparing panegyrist of himself, had not 
exceeded the truth, with respect to his attainments or 
visible qualities. 

There are, indeed, some interior and secret virtues, 
which a man may sometimes have without the know- 
ledge of others; and may sometimes assume to himself. 



256 BROWNE. 

without sufficient reasons for his opinion. It is charged 
upon Browne, by Dr. Watts, as an instance of arrogant 
temerity, that, after a long detail of his attainments, 
he declares himself to have escaped " the first and fa- 
ther-sin of pride." A perusal of the Religio Medici will 
not much contribute to produce a belief of the author*s 
exemption from this father-sin: pride is a vice, which 
pride itself inclines every man to find in others, and to 
overlook in himself. 

As easily may we be mistaken in estimating our own 
courage, as our own humility; and therefore, when 
Browne shews himself persuaded, that " he could lose 
an arm without a tear, or with a few groans be quarter- 
ed to pieces," I ajn not sure that he felt in himself any 
uncommon powers of endurance; or, indeed, any thing 
more than a sudden effervescence of imagination, which, 
uncertain and involuntary as it is, he mistook for settled 
resolution. 

" That there were not many extant, that in a noble 
way feared the face of death less than himself;" he 
might likewise believe at a very easy expence, while 
death was yet at a distance; but the time will come to 
every hu-man being, when it must be known how well he 
can bear to die; and it has appeared that our author's 
fortitude did not desert him in the great hour of trial. 

It was observed by some of the remarkerson the /?(?//- 
gio Medici, that " the author was yet alive, and might 
grow worse as well as better;" it is therefore happy, that 
this suspicion can be obviated by a testimony given to 
the continuance of his virtue, at a time when death had 
set him free from danger of change, and his panegyrist 
from temptation to flattery. 

But it is not on the praises of others, but on his own 
writings, that he is to depend for the esteem of posterity; 
of which he will not easily be deprived while learning 
shall have any reverence among men; for there is no 



BROWNE. 257 

science in which he does not discover some skill, and 
scarce any kind of knowledge, profane or sacred, ab- 
struse, or elegant, which he does not appear to have cul- 
tivated with success. 

His exuberance of knowledge, and plenitude of ideas, 
sometimes obstruct the tendency of his reasoning and 
the clearness of his decisions: on whatever subject he 
employed his mind, there started up immediately so 
many images before him, that he lost one by grasping 
another. His memory supplied him with so many illus- 
trations, parallel or dependent notions, that he was al- 
ways starting into collateral considerations: but the spi- 
rit and vigour of his pursuit always gives delight; and 
the reader follows him, without reluctance, through his 
mazes, in themselves flowery and pleasing, and ending 
at the point originally in view. 

" To have great excellences and great faults, magna 
virtutes nee minora vitia^ is the poesy," says our author, 
" of the best natures." This poesy ma) be properly ap- 
plied to the style of Browne: it is vigorous, but rugged; 
it is learned, but pedantick; it is deep^ but obscure; it 
strikes, but does not please; it commands, but does not 
allure: his tropes are harsh, and his combinations un- 
couth. He fell into an age in which our language began to 
lose the stability which it had obtained in the time of Eli- 
zabeth; and was considered by every writer as a subject 
on which he might try his plastick skill, by moulding it 
according to his own fancy. Milton, in consequence of 
this incroaching licence, began to introduce the Latin 
idiom: and Browne, though he gave less disturbance to 
our structures in phraseology, yet poured in a multitude 
of exotick words; many, indeed, useful and significant, 
which, if rejected, must be supplied by circumlocution, 
such as commensality for the state of many living at 
the same table; but many superfluous, as a paralogical 
for an unreasonable doubt; and some so obscure, that 



253 - BROWNE. 

tney conceal his meaning rather than explain it, as u^r- 
thriiical analogies for parts that serve some animals in 
the place of joints. 

His style is, indeed, a tissue of many languages; a 
mixture of heterogeneous words, brought together from 
distant regions, with terms originally appropriated to 
one art, and drawn t>y violence into the service of ano- 
ther. .He must however be confessed to have augment- 
ed our philosophical diction: and in defence of his un- 
common words and expressions, we must consider, that 
he had uncommon sentiments, and was not content to 
express in many words that idea for which any language 
could supply a single term. 

But his innovations are sometimes pleasing, and his 
temerities happy: he has many verba ardentia^ forcible 
expressions, which he would never have found, but by 
venturing to the utmost verge of propriety; and flights 
K which would never have been reached, but by one who 
had very little fear of the shame of falling. 

There remains yet an objection against the writings of 
Browne, more formidable than the animadversions of 
criticism. There are passages from which some have 
taken occasion to rank him among Deists, and others ■ 
among Atheists. It would be difficult to guess how any 
such conclusion should be formed, had not experience 
shewn that there are two sorts of men willing to enlarge 
the catalogue of infidels. ^ 

It has been long observed, that an Atheist has no just 
reason for endeavouring conversions; and yet none 
harass those minds which they can influence, with more 
importunity of solicitation to adopt their opinions. In pro- 
portion as they doubt the truth of their own doctrines, 
they are desirous to gain the attestation of another un- 
derstanding: and industriously labour to win a proselyte, 



BROWNE. 259 

and eagerly catch at the slightest pretence to dignify 
their sect with a celebrated name.* 

The others become friends to infidelity only by unskil- 
ful hostility; men of rigid orthodoxy, cautious conversa- 
tion, and religious asperity. Among these, it is too fre- 
quently the practice, to make in their heat concessions to 
atheism or deism, which their most confident advocates 
had never dared to claim, or to hope. A sally of levity, 
an idle paradox, an indecent jest, an unreasonable objec- 
tion, are sufficient in the opinion of these men, to eftace 
a name from the lists of Christianity, to exclude a soul 
from everlasting life. Such men are so watchful to cen- 
sure, that they have seldom much care to look for favour- 
able interpretations of ambiguities, to set the general 
tenor of life against single failures, or to know how soon 
any slip of inadvertency has been expiated by sorrow 
and retraction: but let fly their fulminations, without 
mercy or prudence, against slight offences or casual teme- 
rities, against crimes never committed, or immediately 
repented. 

The infidel knows well what he is doing. He is en- 
deavouring to supply, by authority, the deficiency of his 
arguments; and to make his cause less invidious, by 
shewing numbers on his side: he will, therefore, not 
change his conduct till he reforms his principles. But the 
zealot should recollect that he is labouring, by this fre- 
quency of excommunication, against his own cause; and 
voluntarily adding strength to the enemies of truth. It 
must always be the condition of a great part of mankind 
to reject and embrace tenets upon the authority of those 
whom they think wiser than themselves; and, therefore, 
the addition of every name to infidelity in some degree 

* Therefore no Hereticks desire to spread 
Their wild opinions like these Epicures, 
For so their staj^g-ering- thoughts ire computed, 
And other nnen's assent their doubt assures. Da vies- 



260 BROWNE. 

invalidates that argument upon which the religion ot 
multitudes is necessarily founded. 

Men may differ from each other in many religious 
•pinions, and yet all may retain the essentials of Chris- 
tianity; men may sometimes eagerly dispute, and yet 
not differ much from one another: the rigorous persecu- 
tors of error should, therefore, enlighten their zeal with 
knowledge, and temper their orthodoxy with charity; 
that charity without which orthodoxy is vain; charity 
that "thinketh no evil," but "hopeth all things," and 
"endureth all things.'* 

Whether Browne has been numbered among the con- 
temners of religion, by the fury of its friends, or the 
artifice of its enemies, it is no difficult task to replace 
him among the most zealous professors of Christi- 
anity. He may, perhaps, in the ardour of his imagination, 
have hazarded an expression which a mind intent upon 
faults may interpret into heresy, if considered apart from 
the rest of his discourse; but a phrase is not to be oppo- 
sed to volumes; there is scarcely a writer to be found 
whose profession was not divinity, that has so frequently 
testified his belief of the sacred writings, has appealed 
to them with such unlimited submission, or mentioned 
them with such unvaried reverence. 

It is indeed, somewhat wonderful, that he should be 
placed without the pale of Christianity, who declares, 
that " he assumes the honourable style of a Christian,'* 
not because, it is " the religion of his country," but be- 
cause, " having in his riper years and confirmed judg- 
ment seen and examined all, he finds himself obliged, by 
the principles of grace, and the law of his own reason, 
to embrace no other name but this:" who, to specify his 
persuasion yet more, tells us, that " he is of the Reform- 
ed religion; of the same belief our Saviour taught, the 
apostles disseminated, the fathers authorized, and the 
martyrs confirmed:'* who, though " paradoxical in philo- 



BROWNE. 261 

sophy, loves in divinity to keep the beaten road; and 
pleases himself that he has no taint of heresy, schism, 
or error:** to whom, " vv^here the Scripture is silent, the 
Church is a text; where that speaks, 'tis but a comment;'* 
and who uses not " the dictates of his own reason, but 
where there is a joint silence of both: who blesses him- 
self, that he lived not in the days of miracles, when faith 
had been thrust upon him; but enjoys that greater bles- 
sing, pronounced to all that believe and saw not." He 
cannot surely be charged with a defect of faith, who 
" believes that our Saviour was dead, and buried, and 
rose again, and desires to see him in his glory:" and who 
affirms that " this is not much to believe;" that <' we have 
reason to owe this faith unto history;" and that " they 
only had the advantage of a bold and noble faith, who 
lived before his coming; and upon obscure prophecies 
and mystical types could raise a belief." Nor can con- 
tempt of the positive and ritual parts of religion be im- 
puted to him who doubts whether a good man would 
refuse a poisoned eucharist; and " who would violate his 
own arm, rather than a church." 

The opinions of every man must be learned from him- 
self: concerning his practice, it is safest to trust the evi- 
dence of others. Where these testimonies concur, no 
higher degree of historical certainty can be obtained; 
and they apparently concur to prove, that Browne was a 
zealous adherent to the faith of Christ, that he lived in 
obedience to his laws, and died in confidence of his 
mercv. 



A S C H A M * 



IT often happens to writers, that they are known only 
by their works; the incidents of a literary life are seldom 
observed, and therefore seldom recounted; but Ascham 
has escaped the common fate by the friendship of Edward 
Graunt, the learned (naster of Westminster school, who 
devoted an oration to his memory, and has marked the 
various vicissitudes of his fortune. Graunt either avoided 
the labour of minute inquiry, or thought domestick oc- 
currences unworthy of his notice; or, preferring the 
character of an orator to that of an historian, selected 
only such particulars as he could best express or most 
happily embellish. His narrative is therefore scanty, and 
I know not by what materials it can now be amplified. 

ROGER ASCHAM was born in the year 1515, at 
Kirby Wiskeor (Kirby Wicke), a village near North- 
allerton, in Yorkshire, of a family above the vulgar. His 
father, John Ascham, was house-steward in the family of 
Scroop; and in that age, when the different orders of 
men were at a greater distance from each other, and the 
manners of gentlemen were regularly formed by menial 
services in great houses, lived with a very conspicuous 
reputation. Margaret Ascham, his wife, is said to have 

* First printed before his Works in 4to, published by Bennetin 
1763. H. 




ASCHAM. 263 

been allied to many considerable families, but her maiden 
name is not recorded. She had three sons, of whom 
Roger was the youngest and some daughters; but who 
can hope, that of any progeny more than one shall deserve 
to be mentioned? They lived married sixty seven years, 
and at last died together almost on the same hour of the 
same day. 

Roger having passed his first years under the care of 
his parents, was adopted into the family of Antony 
Wingfield, who maintained him, and committed his edu- 
cation, with that of his own sons, to the care of one Bond, 
a domestick tutor. He very early discovered an unusual 
fondness for literature by an eager perusal of English 
books; and having passed happily through the scholastick 
rudiments, was put, in 1530, by his patron Wingfield, to 
St. John*s college, Cambridge. 

Ascham entered Cambridge at a time when the last 
great revolution of the intellectual world was filling every 
academical mind with ardour or anxiety. The destruction 
of the Constantinopolitan empire had driven the Greeks 
with their language into the interior parts of Europe, the 
art of printing had made books easily attainable, and 
Greek now began to be taught in England The doctrines 
of Luther had already filled all the nations of the Romish 
communion with controversy and dissention. New studies 
of literature, and new tenets of religion, found employ- 
ment for all who were desirous of truth, or ambitious of 
fame Learning was at this time prosecuted with that 
eagerness and perseverance which in this age of indifler- 
ence and dissipation is not easy to conceive: to teach or 
to learn, was at once the business and the pleasure of 
the academical life; and an emulation of study was raised 
by Cheke and Smith, to which even the present age per- 
haps owes many advantages, without remembering or 
knowing its benefactors. 

Ascham soon resolved to unite himself to those who 



264 ASCHAM. 

were enlarging the bounds of knowledge, and, immediately 
upon his admission into the college, applied himself to the 
study of Greek. Those who were zealous for the new learn- 
ing, were often no great friends to the old religion; and 
Ascham, as he became a Grecian, became a Protestant. 
The reformation was notyetbep^un; disaffection to Popery 
was considered as a crime justly punished by exclusion 
from favour and preferment, and was not yet openly pro- 
fessed, though superstition was gradually losing its hold 
upon the publick. The study of Greek was reputable 
enough, and Ascham pursued it with diligence and suc- 
cess equally conspicuous. He thought a language might 
be most easily learned by teaching it; and when he had 
obtained some proficiency in Greek, read lectures, while 
he was yet a boy, to other boys, who were desirous of in- 
struction. His industry was much encouraged by Pem- 
ber, a man of great eminence at that time, though I 
know not that he has left any monuments behind him, 
but what the gratitude of his friends and scholars has 
bestowed. He was one of the great encouragers of Greek 
learning, and particularly applauded Ascham's lectures, 
assuring him in a letter of which Graunt has preserved an 
extract, that he would gain more knowledge by explain- 
ing one of iEsop's fables to a boy, then by hearing one of 
Homer*s poems explained by another. 

Ascham took his bachelor's degree in 1534, February 
18, in the eighteenth year of his age: a time of life at 
which it is more common now to enter the universities 
than to take degrees, but which, according to the modes 
of education then in use, had nothing of remarkable pre- 
maturity. On the 23d of march following, he was chosen 
fellow of the college, which election he considered as a 
second birth. Dr. Metcalf, the master of the college, a 
man, as Ascham tells us, " meanly learned himself, but 
no mean encourager in learning of others," clandestinely 
promoted his election, though he openly seemed first to 



ASCHAM. 265 

oppose it, and afterwards to censure it, because Ascham 
was known to favour the new opinions: and the master 
himself was accused of giving an unjust preference to 
the Northern men, one of the factions into which this na- 
tion was divided, before we could find any more impor- 
tant reason of dissention, than that some were born on 
the Northern and some on the Southern side of Trent. 
Any cause is sufficient for a quarrel; and the zealots of 
the North and vSouih lived long in such animosity, that 
it was thought necessary at Oxford to keep them quiet 
by chusing one proctor every year from each. 

He seems to have been hitherto supported by the 
bounty of Wingfield, which his attainment of a fellowship 
now freed him from the necessity of receiving. Depen- 
dence, though in those days it was more common, and 
less irksome, than in the present state of things, can 
never have been free from discontent; and therefore he 
that was released from it must always have rejoiced. 
The danger is, lest the joy of escaping from the patron 
jTiay not leave sufficient memory of the benefactor. Of 
this forgetfulness Ascham cannot be accused; for he is 
recorded to have preserved the most grateful and affec- 
tionate reverence for Wingfield, and to have never grown 
weary of recounting his benefits. 

His reputation still increased, and many resorted to 
his chamber to hear the Greek writers explained. He 
was likewise eminent for other accomplishments. By the 
advice of Pember, he had learned to play on musical in- 
struments, and he was one of the few who excelled in 
the mechanical art of writing, which then began to be 
cultivated among us, and in which we now surpass all 
other nations. He not only wrote his pages with neatness, 
iJut embellished them with elegant draughts and illu- 
minations: an art at that time so highly valued, that it 
contributed much both to his fame and his fortune. 

He became master of arts in March 1 537, in his twen- 

VoL. xn. M 



266 ASCHAM. 

ty-first year; and then, if not before, commenced tutor, 
and publickly undertook the education of young men. 
A tutor of one and twenty, however accomplished with 
learning, however exalted by genius, would now gain 
little reverence or obedience; but in those days of disci- 
pline and regularity, the authority of the statutes easily 
supplied that of the teacher: all power that was lawful 
was reverenced. Besides, young tutors had still younger 
pupils. 

Ascham is said to have courted his scholars to study 
by every incitement, to have treated them with great 
kindness, and to have taken care at once to instill learn- 
ing and piety, to enlighten their minds, and to form their 
manners. Many of his scholars rose to great eminence; 
and among them William Grindal was so much distin- 
guished, that, by Cheke's recommendation, he was cal- 
led to court, as a proper master of languages for the 
lady Elizabeth. 

There was yet no established lecturer of Greek; the 
university therefore appointed Ascham to read in the 
open schools, and paid him out of the publick purse an 
honorary stipend, such as was then reckoned sufficiently 
liberal. A lecture was afterwards founded by king Henry, 
Jind he then quitted the schools, but continued to explain 
Greek authors in his own college. 

He was at first an opponent of the new pronunciation 
introduced, or rather of the ancient restored, about this 
Ume of Cheke and Smith, and made some cautious strug- 
gles for the common practice, which the credit and dig- 
nity by his antagonists did not permit him to defend very 
publickly, or with much vehemence: nor were they long 
liis antagonists; for either his affection for their merit, 
or his conviction of the cogency of their arguments, 
soon changed his opinion and his practice, and he adhe- 
red ever after to their method of utterance. 

Of this controversy it is not necessary to give a cir- 



ASCHAM. 267 

cumstantial account; something of it may be found in 
Strype's Life of Smith, and something in Baker's Re- 
flections upon Learning; it is sufficient to remark here, 
that Cheke's pronunciation was that which now prevails 
in the schools of England. Disquisitions not only verbal, 
but merely literal, are too minute for popular narration. 

He was not less eminent as a writer of Latin than as 
a teacher of Greek. All the publick letters of the univer- 
sity were of his composition; and as little qualifications 
must often bring great abilities into notice, he was re- 
commended to this honourable employment not less by 
the neatness of his hand than the elegance of his style. 

However great was his learning, he was not always 
immured in his chamber; but, being valetudinary, and 
weak of body, thought it necessary to spend many hours 
in such exercises as might best relieve him after the 
fatigue of study. His favourite amusement was archery, 
in which he spent, or, in the opinion of others, lost so 
much time, that those whom either his faults or virtues 
made his enemies, and perhaps some whose kindness 
wished him always worthily employed, did not scruple 
to censure his practice, as unsuitable to a man professing 
learning, and perhaps of bad example in a place of edu- 
cation. 

To free himself from this censure was one of the rea- 
sons for which he published, in 1544, his "Toxophilus, 
or the schole or partitions of shooting,*' in which he joins 
the praise with the precepts of archery. He designed 
not only to teach the art of shooting, but to give an exam- 
ple of diction more natural and more truly English than 
was used by the common writers of that age, whom he 
censures for mingling exotic terms with their native 
language, and of whom he complains, that they were 
made authors, not by skill or education, but by arrogance 
and temerity. 

He has not failed in either of hi§ purposes. He has 



268 ASCHAM. 

sufficiently vindicated archery as an innocent, salutary, 
useful, and liberal diversion; and if his precepts are of 
no great use, he has only shown, by one example among 
many, how little the hand can derive from the mind, 
how little intelligence can conduce to dexterity. In every 
art, practice is much; in arts manual, practice is almost 
the whole. Precept can at most but warn against error, 
it can never bestow excellence. 

The bow has been so long disused, that most English 
readers have forgotten its importance, though it was the 
-weapon by which we gained the battle of Agincourt, a 
weapon Vv'hich when handled by English yeomen, no 
foreign troops were able to resist. We were not only 
abler of body than the French, and therefore superior in 
the use of arms, which are forcible only in proportion 
to the strength with which they are handled, but the 
national practice of shooting for pleasure or for prizes, 
by which every man was inured to archery from his in- 
fancy, gave us insuperable advantage, the bow requiring 
more practice to skilful use than any other instrument 
of olTencc. 

Fire arms were then in their infancy; and though 
battering-pieces had been some time in use, I know not 
whether any soldiers were armed with hand-guns when 
the " Toxophilus" was first published. They were soon 
after used by the Spanish troops, whom other nations 
made haste to imitate: but how little they could yet 
effect, will be understood from the account given by the 
ingenious author of the " Exercise for the Norfolk 
Militia." 

" The first muskets were very heavyj and could not be 
fired without a rest; they had match-locks, and barrels 
of a wide bore, that carried a large ball and charge of 
powder, and did execution at a greater distance. 

" The musketeers on a march carried only their rests 
and ammunition, and had boys to bear their muskets after 
them, for which they were allowed great additional pay. 



ASCHAM. 269 

,*lThey were very slow in loading, not only by reason 
of the unwieldiness of the pieces, and because they car- 
ried the powder and balls separate, but from the time it 
took to prepare and adjust the match; so that their fire 
was not near so brisk as ours is now. Afterwards a light- 
er kind of match-lock musket came into use, and they 
carried their ammunition in bandeliers, which were broad 
belts that came over the shoulder, to which were himg 
several little cases of wood covered with leather, each 
containing' a charge of powder; the balls they carried 
loose in a pouch; and they had also a priming-horn hang- 
ing by their side. 

" The oW English writers call those large muskets 
ealivers: the harquebuze was a lighter piece that could 
be fired without a rest. The match-lock was fired by a 
match fixed by a kind of tongs in the serpentine or cock, 
which, by pulling the trigger, was brought down with 
great quickness upon the priming in the pan; over which 
there was a sliding cover, which was drawn back by the 
hand just at the time of firing. There was a great deal of 
nicety and care required to fit the match properly to the 
cock, so as to come down exactly true on the priming, to 
blow the ashes from the coal, and to guard the pan from 
the sparks that fell from it. A great deal of time was also 
lost in taking it out of the cock, and returning it between 
the fingers of the left hand every time that the piece was 
fired: and wet weather often rendered the matches 
useless." 

While this was the state of fire arms, and this state 
continued among us to the civil war with very little 
improvement, it is no wonder that the long-bow was 
preferred by Sir Thomas Smith, who wrote of the choice 
of weapons in the reign of queen Elizabeth, when the 
use of the bow still continued, though the musket was 
generally prevailing. Sir John Hayward, a writer yet 
later, has, in his History of the Norman kings, endea- 



270 ASCHAM. 

voured to evince the superiority of the archer to the 
musketeer: however, in the long peace of king James, 
the bow was wholly forgotten. Guns have from that 
lime been the weapons of the English, as of other na- 
tions, and, as they are now improved, are certainly more 
efficacious. 

Ascham had yet another reason, if not for writing his 
book, at least for presenting it to king Henry. England 
was not then, what it may be now justly termed, the 
capital of literature; and therefore those who aspired to 
superior degrees of excellence, thought it necessary to 
travel into other countries. The purse of Ascham was 
not equal to the expence of peregrination; and therefore 
he hoped to have it augmented by a pension. Nor was 
he wholly disappointed; for the king rewarded him with 
an yearly payment of ten pounds. 

A pension often pounds granted by a king of England 
to a man of letters appears to modern readers so con- 
temptible a benefaction, that it is not unworthy of enqui- 
ry what might be its value at that time, and how much 
Ascham might be enriched by it. Nothing is more un- 
certain than the estimation of wealth by denominated 
money; the precious metals never retain long the same 
proportion to real commodities, and the same names in 
different ages do not imply the same quantity of metal; so 
that it is equally difficult to know how much money was 
contained in any nominal sum, and to find what any sup- 
posed quantity of gold or silver v/ould purchase; both 
which are necessary to the commensuration of money, or 
the adjustment of proportion between the same sums at 
different periods of time. 

A numeral pound in king Henry's time contained, as 
now, twenty shillings; and therefore it must be inquired 
what twenty shillings could perform. Bread-corn is the 
most certain standard of the necessaries of life. Wheat 



ASCHAM. 271 

was generally sold at that time for one shilling the bushel; 
if therefore we take five shillings the bushel for the cur- 
rent price, ten pounds were equivalent to fifty. But here 
is danger of a fallacy. It may be doubted whether wheat 
was the general bread-corn of that age; and if rye, barley, 
or oats, were the common food, and wheat, as I suspect, 
only a delicacy, the value of wheat will not regulate the 
price of other things. This doubt however is in favour 
of Ascham; for if we raise the worth of wheat, we raise 
that of his pension. 

But the value of money has another variation, which 
we are still less able to ascertain; the rules of custom, 
or the different needs of artificial life, make that revenue 
little at one time which is great at another. Men are rich 
and poor not only in proportion to what they have, but 
to what they want. In some ages not only necessaries are 
cheaper, but fewer things are necessary. In the age of 
Ascham most of the elegances and expences of our pre- 
sent fashions were unknown: commerce had not yet dis- 
tributed superfluity through the lower classes of the 
people, and the character of a student implied frugality, 
and required no splendour to support it. His pension, 
therefore, reckoning together the w^ants which he could 
supply, and the wants from which he was exempt, may 
be estimated, in my opinion, at more than one hundred 
pounds a year; which added to the income of his fellow- 
ship, put him far enough above distress. 

This was an year of good fortune to Ascham. He was 
chosen orator to the university, on the removal of Sir 
John Cheke to court, where he was made tutor to prince 
Edward. A man once distinguished soon gains admirers. 
Ascham was now received to notice by many of the no- 
bility, and by great ladies, among whom it was then the 
fashion to study the ancient languages. Lee, archbishop 
of York, allowed him an yearly pension; how much we 
are not told. He was probably about this time employed 



2r2 ASCHAM. 

in teaching many illustrious persons to write a fine hand; 
and, among others, Henry and Charles, dukes of Suffolk, 
the Princess Elizabeth, and Prince Edward. 

Henry VHI. died two years after, and a reformation 
Qf religion being now openly prosecuted by Khig Edward 
and his council, Ascham, who was known to favour it, 
had a new grant of his pension, and continued at Cam- 
bridge, where he lived in great familiarity with Bucer, 
who had been called from Germany to the professorship 
of divinity. But his retirement was soon at an end; for in 
1548 his pupil Grindal, the master of the Princess Eliza- 
beth, died, and the Princess, who had already some ac- 
quaintance with Ascham, called him from his college to 
direct her studies. He obeyed the summons, as we may 
easily believe, with readiness, and for two years instructed 
her with great diligence; but then, being disgustedeither 
at her or her domesticks, perhaps eager for another 
change of life, he left her without her consent, and returned 
to the university. Of this precipitation he long repented: 
and, as those who are not accustomed to disrespect can- 
not easily forgive it, he probably felt the effects of his 
imprudence to his death. 

After having visited Cambridge, he took a journey into 
Yorkshire, to see his native place, and his old acquain- 
tance, and there received a letter from the court, inform- 
ing that he was appointed secretary to Sir Richard 
Morisine, who was to be dispatched as an ambassador 
into Germany. In his return to London he paid that 
memorable visit to Lady Jane Gray, in which he found 
her reading the Phaedra in Greek, as he has related in 
his Schoolmaster, 

In the year 1550 he attended Morisine to Germany, 
and wandered over great part of the country, making 
observations upon all that appeared worthy of his curio- 
sity, and contracting acquaintance with men of learning. 
To his correspondent Sturmius he paid a visit; but Stur- 



ASCHAM. 273 

mius was not at home, and those two illustrious friends 
never saw each other. During the course of this embassy, 
Ascham undertook to improve Morisine in Greek, and 
for four days in the week explained some passages in 
Herodotus every morning, and more than two hundred 
verses of Sophocles or Euripides every afternoon. He 
read with him likewise some of the orations of Demos- 
thenes. On the other days he compiled the letters of 
business, and in the night filled up his diary, digested his 
remarks, and wrote private letters to his friends in Eng- 
land, and particularly to those of his college, whom he 
continually exhorted to perseverance in study. Amidst all 
the pleasures of novelty which his travels supplied, and 
in the dignity of his publick station, he preferred the 
tranquillity of private study, and the quiet of academical 
retirement. The reasonableness of this choice has been 
always disputed; and in the contrariety of human inter- 
ests and dispositions, the controversy will not easily be 
decided. 

He made a short excursion into Italy, and mentions 
in his Schoolmaster with great severity the vices of 
Venice. He was desirous of visiting Trent while the 
council were sitting; but the scantiness of his purse de- 
feated his curiosity. 

In this journey he wrote his Rejiort and Discourse of 
the Affairs in Germany^ in which he describes the dispo- 
sitions and interests of the German princes like a man 
inquisitive and judicious, and recounts many particula- 
rities which are lost in the mass of general history, in a 
style which to the ears of that age was undoubtedly 
mellifluous, and which is now a very valuable specimen 
of genuine English. 

By the death of king Edward in 1 553, the Reformation 
was stopped, Morisine was recalled, and Ascham's pen- 
sion and hopes were at an end. He therefore retired to 
his fellowship in a state of disappointment and despair, 

M2 



i3r4 ASCHAM. 

which his biographer has endeavoured to express in the 
deepest strain of uiuirttive declamation ^'He was deprived 
af ail his support," says Graunt, " stripped of his pension, 
and cut off from the assistance of his friends, who had 
now lost their influence; so that he had nec Promina 
NEC Pr^dia, neither pension nor estate to support him 
at Cambridge." There is no credit due to a rhetorician's 
account either of good ov evil. The truth is, that Ascham 
still had in his fellowship all that in the early part of 
his life had given him plenty, and might have lived like 
the other inhabitants of the college, with the advantage 
of more knowledge and higher reputation. But notwith- 
standing his love of academical retirement, he had now 
too loiig enjoyed the pleasures and feslivites of publick 
life, to return with a good will to academical poverty. 

He had however better fortune than he expected; and 
if he lamented his condition like his historian, better 
than he deserved. He had during his absence in Germany 
been appointed Latin secretary to king Edward; and by 
the interest of Gardiner, bishop of Winchester, he was 
instated in the same office under Philip and Mary, with 
a salary of twenty pounds a year. 

Soon after his admission to his new^ employment, he 
gave an extraordinary specimen of his abilities and dili- 
gence, by composing and transcribing with his usual 
elegance, in three days, forty-seven letters to princes 
and personages, of whom cardinals were the lowest. 

How Ascham who was known to be a Protestant, 
could preserve the favour of Gardiner, and hold a place 
of honour and profit in queen Mary's court, it must be 
very natural to enquire. Cheke, as is well known, was 
compelled to a recantation; and why Ascham was spared, 
cannot now be discovered. Graunt, at a time when the 
transactions of queen Mar)^*s reign must have been well 
enough remembered, declares that Ascham always made 
open profession of the Reformed religion, and that En- 



ASCHAM. 275 

glesfield and others often endeavoured to incite Gardiner 
against him, but found their accusations rejected with 
contempt; yet he allows, that suspicions and charges of 
temporization and compliance had somewhat sullied his 
reputation. The author of the Biographia Britannica 
conjectures, that he owed his safety to his innocence 
and usefulness; that it would have been unpopular to 
attack a man so little liable to censure, and that the loss 
of his pen could not have been easily supplied. But the 
truth is, that morality was never suffered in the days of 
persecution to protect heresy: nor are we sure that 
Ascham was more clear from common failings than 
those who suffered more; and whatever might be his 
abilities, they were not so necessary but Gardiner could 
have easily filled his place with another secretary. No- 
thing is more vain than at a distant time to examine the 
motives of discrimination and partiality; for the inquirer, 
having considered interest and policy, is obliged at last 
to omit more frequent and more active motives of hu- 
man conduct, caprice, accident, and private affections. 

At that time, if some were punished, many were for- 
borne; and of many why should not Ascham happen to 
be one? He seems to have been calm and prudent, and 
content with that peace which he was suffered to enjoy: 
a mode of behaviour that seldom fails to produce security. 
He had been abroad in the last years of king Edward, 
and had at least given no recent offence. He was cer- 
tainly, according to his own opinion, not much in dangei"; 
for in the next year he resigned his fellowship, which by 
Gardiner's favour he had continued to hold, though not 
resident; and married Margaret Howe, a young gentle- 
woman of a good family. 

He was distinguished in this reign by the notice of 
cardinal Pole, a man of great candour, learnini^, and 
gentleness of manners, and particularly eminent for his 
skill in Latin, who thought highly of Ascham's style; of 



'276 ASCHAM. 

which it is no inconsiderable proof, that when Pole was 
desirous of communicating a speech made by himself as 
legate, in parliament, to the pope, he employed Ascham 
to translate it. 

He is said to have been not only protected by the 
officers of state, but favoured and countenanced by the 
queen herself, so that he had no reason of complaint in 
that reign of turbulence and persecution: nor was his 
fortune much mended, when in 1558 his pupil Elizabeth 
mounted the throne. He was continued in his former 
employment, with the same stipend: but though he was 
daily admitted to the presence of the queen, assisted her 
private studies, and partook of her diversions; sometimes 
read to her in the learned languages, and sometimes 
played with her at draughts and chess; he added nothing 
to his twenty pounds a year but the prebend of West- 
wang in the church of York, which was given him the 
year following. His fortune was therefore not propor- 
tionate to the rank which his offices and reputation gave 
him, or to the favour in which he seemed to stand with 
his mistress. Of this parsimonious allotment it is again 
a hopeless search to inquire the reason. The queen was 
not naturally bountiful, and perhaps did not think it ne- 
cessary to distinguish by any prodigality of kindness a 
man who had formerly deserted her, and whom she 
might still sus})ect of serving rather for interest than 
affection. Graunt exerts his rhetorical powers in praise 
of Ascham's disinterestdness and contempt of money; 
and declares, that though he was often reproached by 
his friends with neglect of his own interest, he never 
would ask any thing, and inflexibly refused all presents 
which his office or imagined interest induced any to offer 
him. Camden, however, imputes the narrowness of his 
condition to his love of dice and cock-fights: and Graunt, 
forgetting himself, allows that Ascham was sometimes 
thrown into agonies by disappointed expectations. It may 



ASCHAM. 277 

be easily discovered from his Schoolmastevy that he felt 
his wants, though he might neglect to supply them; and 
we are left to suspect that he shewed his contempt of 
money only by losing at play. If this was his practice, 
we may excuse Elizabeth, who knew the domestick 
character of her servants, if she did not give much to 
him who was lavish of a tittle. 

However he might fail in his economy, it were inde- 
cent to treat with wanton levity the memory of a man 
who shared his frailties with all, but whose learning or 
virtues few can attain, and by whose excellences many 
may be improved, while himself only suffered by his 
faults. 

In the reign of Elizabeth nothing remarkable is knoAvn 
to have befallen him, except that, in 1563, he was invit- 
ed by Sir Edward Sackville to write the Schoolmaster, a 
treatise on education, upon an occasion which he relates 
in the beginning of the book. 

This work, though begun with^alacrity, in hopes of a 
considerable reward, was interrupted by the death of the 
patron, and afterwards sorrowfully and slowly finished, 
in the gloom of disappointment, under the pressure of 
distress. But of the author's disinclination or dejection 
there can be found no tokens in the work, which is con- 
ceived with great vigour, and finished with great accura- 
cy; and perhaps contains the best advice that was ever 
given for the study of languages. 

This treatise he completed, but did not publish; for 
that poverty which in our days drives authors so hastily 
in such numbers to the press, in the time of Ascham, I 
-believe debarred them from it. The printers gave little 
for a copy, and, if we may believe the tale of Raleigh's 
liistory, were not forward to print what was oifered 
them for nothing. Ascham's book therefore lay unseen 
in his study, and was at last dedicated to lord Ceiil by 
his widow. 



278 ASCHAM. 

Ascham never had a robust or vigorous body, and his 
excuse for so many hours of diversion was his inability 
to endure a long continuance of sedentary thought. In 
the latter part cf his life he found it necessary to forbear 
any intense application of the mind from dinner to bed- 
time, and rose to read and write early in the morning. 
He was for some years hectically feverish; and though 
he found some alleviation of his distemper, never obtain- 
ed a perfect recovery of his health. The immediate 
cause of his last sickness was too close application to the 
composition of a poem, which he purposed to present 
to the queen on the day of her accession. To finish this, 
he forbore to sleep at his accustomed hours, till in De- 
cember 1568 he fell sick of a kind of lingering disease, 
which Graunt has not named, nor accurately described. 
The most afflictive symptom was want of sleep, which 
he endeavoured to obtain by the motion of a cradle. 
Growing every day weaker, he found it vain to contend 
with his distemper, and prepared to die with the resig- 
nation and piety of a true Christian. He was attended on 
his death-bed by Gravet, vicar of St. Sepulchre, and Dr. 
Nowel, the learned dean of St. Paul's, who gave ample 
testimony to the decency and devotion of his concluding 
life. He frequently testified his desire of that dissolution 
which he soon obtained. His funeral sermon was preach- 
ed by Dr. Nowel. 

Roger Ascham died in the fifty-third year of his age, 
at a time when according to the general course of life, 
much might yet have been expected from him, and 
when he might have hoped for much from others: but 
his abilities and his wants were at an end together: and 
who can determine, whether he was cut off from advan- 
tages, or rescued from calamities? He appears to have 
been not much qualified for the improvement of his for- 
tune. His disposition was kind and social; he delighted 
in the pleasures of conversation, and was probubly not 
much inclined to business. This may be suspected from 



ASCHAM. 279 

the paucity of his writings. He has left little behind him; 
and of that little nothing was published by himself but 
the Toxofihilus^ and the account of Germany. The School- 
master was printed by his widow; and the epistles were 
collected by Graunt who dedicated them to queen Eliza- 
beth, that he might have an opportunity of recommend- 
ing his son Giles Ascham to her patronage. The dedi- 
cation was not lost: the young man was made, by the 
queen's mandate, fellow of a college in Cambridge, 
where he obtained considerable reputation. What was 
the effect of his widow's dedication to Cecil, is not 
known: it may be hoped that Ascham's works obtained 
for his family, after his decease, that support which he 
did not in his life very plenteously procure thefn. 

Whether he was poor by his own fault, or the fault of 
others, cannot now be decided; but it is certain that 
many have been rich with less merit. His philological 
learning would have gained him honour in any country; 
and among us it may justly call for that reverence which 
all nations owe to those who first rouse them from igno- 
rance, and kindle among them the light of literature. 
Of his manners nothing can be said but from his own tes- 
timony, and that of his contemporaries. Those who 
mention him allow him many virtues. His courtesy, bene- 
volence, and liberality, are celebrated; and of his piety 
we have not only the testimony of his friends, but the 
evidence of his writings. 

That his English works have been so long neglected 
is a proof of the uncertainty of literary fame. He was 
scarcely known as an author in his own language till 
Mr. Upton published his Schoolmaster with learned notes. 
His other pieces were read only by those who delight in 
obsolete books; but as they are now collected into one 
volume, with the addition of some letters never printed 
before, the publick has an opportunity of recompensing 
the injury, and allotting Ascham the reputation due to 
his knowledge and his eloquence. 



LETTERS 

BY 

SAMUEL JOHNSON, LL. D. 

SELECTED FROM 

THE COLLECTION OF MRS. PIOZZI, 
AND OTHERS. 



LETTERS. 



LETTER I. To Mr. James Elphinston. 

Dear Sir, Sept. 25th, 1750. 

1 OU have as I find by every kind of evidence, lost an 
excellent mother; and I hope you will not think me in- 
capable of partaking of your grief. 1 have a mother, now 
eighty -two years of age, whom, therefore, I must soon 
lose, unless it please God that she rather should mourn 
for me. I read the letters in which you relate your mo- 
ther's death to Mrs. Strahan, and think I do myself ho- 
nour, when I tell you, that I read them with tears; but 
tears are neither to you^ nor to me, of any further use, 
when once the tribute of nature has been paid. The bu- 
siness of life summons us away from useless grief, and 
calls us to the exercise of those virtues of which we are 
lamenting our deprivation. 

The greatest benefit which one friend can confer upon 
another, is to guard, and excite, and elevate his virtues. 
This your mother will still perform, if you diligently 
preserve the memory of her life, and of her death: a life, 
so far as I can learn, useful, wise, and innocent; and a 
death resigned, peaceful, and holy. I cannot forbear to 
mention, that neither reason nor revelation denies you 
to hope, that you may increase her happiness by obeying 
her precepts; and that she may, in her present state. 



284 LETTERS. 

look with pleasure upon every act of virtue, to which 
her instructions or example have contributed. Whether 
this be more than a pleasing dream, or a just opinion of 
separate spirits, is, indeed, of no great importance to us, 
when we consider ourselves as acting under the eye of 
God: yet, surely, there is something pleasing in the be- 
lief, that our separation from those whom we love is 
merely corporeal; and it may be a great incitement to 
virtuous frienilship, if it can be made probable, that that 
union, which has received the divine approbation, shall 
continue to eternity. 

Therels one expedient, by which you may, in some 
degree, continue her presence. If you write down mi- 
nutely wb^t you remember of her from your earliest 
years, you will read it with great pleasure, and receive 
fromit many hints of soothing recollection, when time 
shall remove her yet further from you, and your grief 
shall be matured to veneration. To this, however pain- 
ful for the present, 1 cannot but advise you, as to a source 
cf comfort and satisfaction, in the time to come; for all 
conifort and satisfaction is sincerely wished you by, 

DEAR SIR, 

Your most obliged, most obedient, 

and most humble servant, 

SAM. JOHNSON. 



LETTER IL To Mrs, Thrale. 

Madam, London, Aug. 13, 1765. 

IF you have really so good an opinion of me as you 
express, it will not be necessary to inform you how un- 
willingly I miss the opportunity of coming to Bright- 
helmstone in Mr. Thrale's company; or, since I cannot 
do what I wish first, how eagerly I shall catch the se- 



LETTERS. 285 

cond degree of pleasure by coming to you and him, as 
soon as I can dismiss my work from my hands. 

I am afraid to make promises even to myself; but I 
hope that the week after the next will be the end of my 
present business. When business is done, what remains 
but pleasure? and where should pleasure be sought, but 
under Mrs. I'hrale's influence. 

Do not blame me for a delay by which I must suffer 
so much, and by which I suffer alone. If you cannot 
think I am good, pray think I am mending, and that in 
time I may deserve to be, dear Madam, your, is'c. 



LETTER IIL To the Same. 

Madam, Litchfield, July 20, 1767. 

THOUGH I have been away so much longer than I 
purposed or expected, I have found nothing that with- 
draws my affections from the friends whom I left behind, 
or which makes me less desirous of reposing at that 
place which your kindness and Mr. Thrale*s allow me to 
call my home. . 

Miss Lucy* is more kind and civil than I expected, 
and has raised my esteem by many excellences very no 
ble and resplendent, though a little discoloured by 
hoary virginity. Every thing else recals to my remem- 
brance years, in which I proposed, what, 1 am afraid, I 
have not done, and promised myself pleasure which I 
have not found. But complaint can be of no use: and why 
then should I depress your hopes by my lamentations? 
I suppose it is the condition of humanity to design what 
never will be done, and to ho^e what never will be ob- 
tained. But among the vain hopes, let me not number 
the hope which I have, of being long, dear Madam, 
your, ^c. 

* Miss Lacy Porter, daughter to Dr. Johnson's wife by a for- 
mer husband. 



286 LETTERS. 



LETTER IV. To Mrs. Thrale. 

Madam, Litchfield, Aug-ust 14, 1769. 

I SET out on Thursday morning, and found my com- 
panion, to whom I was very much a stranger, more 
agreeable than I expected. We went cheerfully forward, 
and passed the night at Coventry. We came in late, and 
went out early; and therefore I did not send for my cou- 
sin Tom; but I design to make him some amends for 
the omission. 

Next day we came early to Lucy, who was, I believe, 
glad to see us. She had saved her best gooseberries 
upon the tree for me; and as Steele says, / luas neither 
too firoud nor too luise to gather them. I have rambled a 
very little inter fontes et jiumina nota^ but I am not yet 
well. They have cut down the trees in George Lane. 
Evelyn, in his book of Forest Trees, tells us of wicked 
men that cut down trees, and never prospered afterwards; 
yet nothing has deterred these audacious aldermen from 
violating the Hamadryads of George Lane. As an im- 
partial traveller I must however tell that in Stow-street, 
where I left a draw-well, I have found a pump; but the 
lading-well in this ill-fated George Lane lies shamefully 
neglected. 

I am going to-day or to-morrow to Ashbourne; but I 
am at a loss how I shall get back in time to London. 
Here are only chance coaches, so that there is no cer- 
tainty of a place. If I do not come, let it not hinder your 
journey. I can be but a few days behind you; and 1 will 
follow in the Brighthelmstone coach. But I hope to 
come. 

I took care to tell Miss Porter, that I have got ano- 
ther Lucy. I hope she is well. Tell Mrs. Salusbury, 
that I beg her stay at Streatham, for little Lucy's sake. 
I am, \:fc. 



LETTERS. 287 



LETTER V. To the Same. 

Madam, Litchfield, July 11, 1770. 

SINCE my last letter nothing extraordinary has hap- 
pened. Rheumatism, which has been very troublesome, 
is grown better. I have not yet seen Dr. Taylor, and 
July runs fast away. I shall not have much time for him, 
if he delays much longer to come or send. Mr. Greene 
the apothecary, has found a book, which tells who paid 
levies in our parish, and how much they paid, above an 
hundred years ago. Do you not think we study this book 
hard? Nothing is like going to the bottom of things. 
Many families that paid the parish rates are now ex- 
tinct, like the race of Hercules. Pulvis et umbra sumus. 
What is nearest us touches us most. The passions rise 
higher at domestick than at imperial tragedies. I am not 
wholly unaffected by the revolutions of Sadler-street: nor 
can forbear to mourn a little when old names vanish 
away and new come into their place. 

Do not imagine. Madam, that 1 wrote this letter for 
the sake of these philosophical meditations; for when I 
began it, I had neither Mr. Greene nor his book in my 
thoughts; but was resolved to write, and did not know 
what I had to send, but my respects to Mrs. Salusbury, 
and Mr. Thrale, and Harry, and the Misses. I am, dear- 
est Madam, your, ^c. 



LETTER VL To Mrs, Thrale. 

Dearest Madam, Ashbourne, July 23, 1770. 

THERE had not been so long an interval between 
my two last letters, but that when I came hither I did 
not at first understand the hours of the post. 



283 LETTERS. 

I have seen the great bull; and very great he is. I have 
seen likewise his heir apparent, who promises to inherit 
all the bulk and all the virtues of his sire. I. have seen 
the man who offered a hundred guineas for the young 
bull, while he was yet liitle better than a calf. Matlock, 
I am afraid I shall not see, but I purpose to see Dove- 
dale, and after all this seeing, I hope to see you. I am, 



LETTER VIL To the Same. 

Dear Madam, Ashbourne, July 3, 1771. 

LAST Saturday I came to Ashbourne; the dangers 
or the pleasures of the journey I have at present no dis- 
position to recount; else might I paint the beauties of 
my native plains; might I tell of the '' smiles of nature, 
" and the charms of art:" else might 1 relate how 1 cros- 
sed the Staffordshire canal, one of the greatest efforts 
of human labour, and human contrivance; which from 
the bridge on which I viewed it, passed away on either 
side, and loses itself in distant regions, uniting waters 
that nature had divided, and dividing lands which nature 
had united. I might tell how these reflections ferment- 
ed in my mind till the chaise stopped at Ashbourne, at 
Ashbourne in the Peak. Let not the barren name of the 
Peak terrify you; I have never wanted strawberries and 
creym. The great bull has no disease but age. I hope 
in time to be like the great bull; and hope you will be 
like him too a hundred years hence. I am, ^c. 



LETTERS. 289 



LETTER Vin. To Mrs, Thrale. 

Dearest Madam, Ashbourne, Juiy 10, 1771 

I AM obliged to my friend Harry for his remem- 
brance; but think it a little hard that I hear nothing from 
Miss. 

There has been a man here to-day to take a farm. 
After some talk he went to see the bull, and said that 
he had seen a bigger. Do you think he is likely to get 
the farm? 

Toujours strawberries and cream. 

Dr. Taylor is much better, and my rheumatism is 
less painful. Let me hear in return as much good of you 
and Mrs. Salusbury. You despise the Dog and Duck: 
things that are at hand are always slighted. I remember 
that Dr Grevil, of Gloucester, sent for that water when 
his wife was in the same danger; but he lived near Mal- 
vern, and you live near the Dog and Duck. Thus in dif- 
ficult cases, we naturally trust most what we least know. 

Why Bromefield, supposing that a lotion can do good, 
should despise laurel-water in comparison with his own 
receipt, I do not see; and see still less why he should 
laugh at that which Wall thinks efficacious. I am afraid 
philosophy will not warrant much hope in a lotion. 

Be pleased to make my compliments, from Mrs. Sa- 
lusbury to Susy. I am, iJfc. 



LETTER IX. To the Same, 

Madam, October Zl, 1772. 

THOUGH I am just informed, that, by some acci- 
dental negligence, the letter, which 1 wrote on Thursday 
was not given to the post, yet I cannot refuse myself the 

Vol. XH. N 



290 LETTERS. 

gratification of writing again to my mistress; not that I 
have any thing to tell, but that, by shewing how much I 
am employed upon you, I hope to keep you from forget- 
ting me. 

Doctor Taylor asked me this morning on what I was 
thinking? and I was thinking on Lucy. 1 hope Lucy is a 
good girl. But she cannot yet be as good as Queeney. I 
have got nothing yet for Queeney's cabinet. 

I hope dear Mrs. Salusbury grows no worse. I wish 
any thing could be found that would make her better. 
You must remember her admonition, and bustle in the 
brewhouse. When I come, you may expect to have your 
hands full with all of us. 

Our bulls and cows are all well; but we yet hate the 
man that had seen a bigger bull. Our deer have died; 
but many are left. Our waterfall at the garden makes a 
great roaring this wet weather. 

And so no more at present from. Madam your, ^c. 



LETTER X. To Mrs. Thrale. 

Dear Madam, Nov. 23, 1772. 

I AM sorry that none of your letters bring better 
news of the poor lady. I hope her pain is not great. To 
have a disease confessedly incurable, and apparently 
mortal, is a very heavy affliction; and it is still more grie- 
vous when pain is added to despair. 

Every thing else in your letter pleased me very well, 
except that when I come I entreat I may not be flattered, 
as your letters flatter me. You have read of heroes and 
princes ruined by flattery, and I question if any of them 
had a flatterer so dangerous as you. Pray keep strictly 
to your character of governess. 

I cannot yet get well ; my nights are flatulent and un- 
quiet, but my days are tolerable easy, and Taylor says I 



LETTERS. 291 

look much better than when 1 came hither. You M'ill see 
when I come, and I can take your word. 

Our house affords no revolutions. The great bull is 
well. But I write not merely to think on you, for I do 
that without writing, but to keep you a iittle thinkins^ on 
me. I perceive that I have taken a broken piece of paper: 
but that is not the greatest fault that you must forgiye 
in, Madam, your, ^c. 



LETTER XL To the Same. 

Dear Madam, Nov. 27, 1772, 

IF you are so kind as to write to me on Saturday, the 
day on which you will receive this, I shall have it before 
I leave Ashbourne. I am to go to Litchfield on Wed- 
nesday, and purpose to find my way to London through 
Birmingham and Oxford. 

I was yesterday at Chatsworth. It is a very fine house. 
I wish you had been with me to see it; for then, as w« 
are apt to want matter of talk, we should have gained 
something new to talk on. They complimented me with 
playing the fountain, and opening the cascade. But I am 
of my friend's opinion, that when one has seen the ocean, 
cascades are but little things. 

I am in hope of a letter to day from you or Queeney, 
but the post has made some blunder, and the packet is 
not yet distributed. I wish it may bring me a little good 
of you all. I am, iJ'c. 



LETTER XII. To the Same. 

Madam, Tuesday, Jan. 26, 1774. 

THE inequalities of human life have always employed 
the meditation of deep thinkers, and I cannot forbear 



292 LETTERS. 

to reflect on the difference between your condition and 
my own. You live upon mock-turile and stewed rumps 
of beef, 1 dined yesterday upon crumpets. You sit with 
parish officers, caressing and caressed, the idol of the 
table, and the wonder of the day. I pine in the solitude 
of sickness, not bad enough to be pitied, and not well 
enough to be endured. You sleep away the night, and 
laugh and scold away the day. I cough and grumble and 
grumble and cough. Last night was very tedious, and this 
day makes no promises of much ease. However I have 
this day put on my shoe, and hope the gout is gone. I 
shall have only the cough to contend with, and I doubt 
•whether I shall get rid of that without change of place. 
I caught cold in the coach as I went away, and am dis- 
ordered by very little things. Is it accident or age? 
I am, dearest madam, iJfc, 



LETTER Xin. To Mrs, Thrale. 

Dear Madam, March 17, 1773. 

TO tell you that I am sorry both for the poor lady and 
for you is useless. I cannot help either of you. The 
weakness of mind is perhaps only a casual interruption 
or intermission of the attention, such as we all suffer 
when some weighty care or urgent calamity has posses- 
sion of the mind. She will compose herself. She is un- 
willing to die, and the first conviction of approaching 
death raised great perturbation. I think she has but very 
lately thought death close at hand. She will compose 
herself to do that as well as she can which must at last be 
done. May she not want the divine assistance. 



LETTERS. 293 

You, Madam, will have a great loss; a greater than is 
common in the loss of a parent. Fill your mind with 
hope of her happiness, and turn your thoughts first to 
Him who gives and takes away, in whose presence the 
living and dead are standing together. Then remember, 
that when this mournful duty is paid, others yet remain 
of equal obligation, and, we may hope, of less painful 
performance. Grief is a species of idleness, and the 
necessity of attention to the present preserves us, by the 
merciful disposition of Providence, from being lacerated 
and devoured by sorrow for the past. You must think on 
your husband and your children, and do what this dear 
lady has done for you. 

Not to come to town while the great struggle con- 
tinues is undoubtedly well resolved. But do not harass 
yourself into danger; you owe the care of your health to 
all that love you, at least to all whom it is your duty to 
love. You cannot give such a mother too much, if you 
do not give her what belongs to another. I am Isfc. 



LETTER XIV. To the Same. 

Dear Madam, April 2T, 177S 

HOPE is more pleasing than fear, but not less falla- 
cious; you know, when you do not try to deceive your- 
self, that the disease which at last is to destroy must be 
gradually growing worse, and that it is vain to wish for 
more than that the descent to death may be slow and 
easy. In this wish I join with you, and hope it will be 
granted. Dear, dear lady, whenever she is lost she will 
be missed, and whenever she is remembered she will 
be lamented. Is it a good or an evil to me that she now 
loves me? It is surely a good: for you will love ijie better, 
and we shall have a new principle of concord; and I shall 
be happier with honest sorrow than with sullen indiffer- 



s 

294 LETTERS. 

ence: and far happier still than with counterfeited sym- 
pathy. 

I am reasoning upon a principle very far from certain, 
a confidence of survivance. You or I, or both, may be 
called into the presence of the Supreme Judge before 
her. I have lived a life of which I do not like the review. 
Surely I shall in time live better. 

I sat down with an intention to write high compliments; 
but my thoughts have taken another course, and some 
other time must now serve to tell you with what other 
emotions, benevolence, and fidelity, I am, ^c. 



LETTER XV. To Mrs. Thrale. 

Madam, May 17, \772 

NEVER imagine that your letters are long; they 
are always too short for my curiosity. I do not know 
that I was ever content with a single perusal. 

Of dear Mrs. Salusbury I ne^er expected much better 
news than you send me; de pis en pis is the natural and 
certain course of her dreadful malady. I am content 
when it leaves her ease enough for the exercise of her 
mind. 

Why should Mr. ***** suppose that what I took 
the liberty of suggesting was concerted with you? He 
does not know how much I revolve his affairs, and how 
honestly I desire his prosperity. I hope he has let the 
hint take some hold of his mind. 

Your declaration to Miss ***** is more general 
than my opinions allow. I think an unHmited promise of 
acting by the opinion of another so wrong, that nothing, 
or hardly any thing, can make it right. All unnecessary 
vows are folly, because they suppose a prescience of the 
future, which has not been given us. They arc I think, 
a crime, because they resign that life to chance which 



LETTERS. 295 

God has given us to be regulated by reason; and super- 
induce a kind of fatality, from which it is the great privi- 
lege of our nature to be free. Unlimited obedience is 
due only to the Universal Father of Heaven and Earth. 
My parents may be mad and foolish; may be wicked and 
malicious; may be erroneously religious, or absurdly 
scrupulous. I am not bound to compliance with man- 
dates either positive or negative, which either religion 
condemns, or reason rejects. There wanders about the 
world a wild notion which extends over marriage more 
than over any other transaction. If Miss * * * * followed 
a trade, would it be said that she was bound in con- 
science to give or refuse credit at her father's choice. 
And is not marriage a thing in which she is more inter- 
ested, and has therefore more right of choice? When I 
may suffer for my own crimes, when I may be sued for 
my own debts, I may judge by parity of reason for my 
own happiness. The parent's moral right can arise only 
from his kindness, and his civil right only from his money. 

Conscience cannot dictate obedience to the wicked, or 
compliance with the foolish; and of interest mere pru- 
dence is the judge. 

If the daughter is bound without a promise, she pro- 
mises nothing; and if she is not bound, she promises too 
much. 

What is meant by tying up money in trade I do not 
understand. No money is so little tied as that which is 
employed in trade. Mr. * * * * perhaps only means, that 
in consideration of money to be advanced, he will oblige 
his son to be a trader. This is reasonable enough. Upon 
ten thousand pound diligently occupied, they may live 
in great plenty and splendour, without the mischiefs of 
idleness. 

I can write a long letter as well as my mistress; and 
shall be glad that my long letters may be as welcome 
as hers. 



296 LETTERS. 

My nights are grown again very uneasy and trouble- 
some, I know not that the country will mend them; 
but I hope your company will mend my days. Though I 
cannot now expect much attention, and would not wish 
for more than can be spared from the poor dear lady, 
yet I shall see you and hear you every now and then; 
and to see and hear you, is always to hear wit, and to see 
virtue. 

I shall, I hope, see you to-morrow, and a little on the 
two next days; and with that little I must for the present 
try to be contented. 1 am, ^c. 



LETTER XVL To Mrs. Thrale. 

Dear Madam, August 12, 1773. 

WE left I-.ondon on Friday the sixth, not very early, 
and travelled without any memorable accident through 
a country which I had seen before. In the evening I 
was not well, and was forced to stop at Stilton, one stage 
short of Stamford, where we intended to have lodged. 

On the 7th we passed through Stamford and Grant- 
ham, and dined at Newark, where I had only time to 
observe that the market-place was uncommonly spacious 
and neat. In London we should call it a square, the sides 
were neither straight nor parallel. We came, at night, 
to Doncaster, and Avent to church in the morning, where 
Chambers found the monument of Robert of Doncaster, 
who says on his stone something like this: — What I 
gave, that I have: what I spent, that I had; what I left, 
that I lost. — So saith Robert of Doncaster, who reigned 
in the world sixty-seven years, and all that time lived 
not one. Here we were invited to dinner, and therefore 
made no great haste away. 

We reached York however that night: I was much 
disordered with old complaints. Next morning we was 



LETTERS. 297 

the Minster, an edifice of loftiness and elegance equal 
to the highest hopes of architecture. I remember no- 
thing but the dome of St. Paul's that can be compared 
with the middle walk. The Chapter house is a circular 
building, very stately, but I think excelled by the Chap- 
ter-house of Lincoln. 

I then went to see the ruins of the Abbey, which are 
almost vanished, and I remember nothing of them dis- 
tinct. 

The next visit was to the jail, which they call the 
castle; a fabrick built lately, such is terrestrial mutabi- 
lity, out of the materials of the ruined Abbey. The un- 
der jailor was very officious to shew his fetters, in wliich 
there was no contrivance. The head jailor came in, and 
seeing me look I suppose fatigued, offered me wine, and 
when I went away would not suffer his servant to take 
money. The jail is accounted the best in the kingdom, 
and you find the jailor deserving of his dignity. 

We dined at York, and went on to Northallerton, a 
place of which I know nothing, but that it afforded us a 
lodging on Monday night, and about two hundred and 
seventy years ago gave birth to Roger Ascham. 

Next morning we changed our horses at Darlington 
where Mr. Cornelius Harrison, a cousin-german of mine, 
was perpetual curate. He was the only one of my rela- 
tions who ever rose in fortune above penury, or in cha- 
racter above neglect. 

The church is built crosswise, with a fine spire, and 
might invite a traveller to survey it; but I perhaps want- 
ed vigour, and thought I wanted time. 

The next stage brought us to Durham, a place of 
which Mr. Thrale bade me take particular notice. The 
Bishop's palace had the appearance of an old feudal cas- 
tle, built upon an eminence, and looking down upon the 
river, upon which was formerly thrown a draw-b ridge, 

N2 



298 LETTERS. 

as I suppose to be raised at night, lest the Scots should 
pass it. 

The cathedral has a massiness and solidity such as I 
have seen in no other place; it rather awes than pleases, 
as it strikes with a kind of gigantick dignity, and as- 
pires to no other praise than that of rocky solidity and 
indeterminate duration. I had none of my friends resi- 
dent, and therefore saw but little. The library is mean 
and scanty. 

At Durham, beside all expectation, I met an old friend: 
Miss Fordyce is married there to a physician. We met, I 
think, with honest kindness on both sides. I thought her 
much decayed, and having since heard that the banker 
had involved her husband in his extensive ruin, I cannot 
forbear to think that I saw in her withered features 
more impression of sorrow than that of time — 

Qiia terra patet, sera regnat Erinnys. 

He that wanders about the world sees new forms of 
human misery, and if he chances to meet an old friend, 
meets a face darkened with troubles. 

On Tuesday night we came hither; yesterday I took 
some care of myself, and to-day I am quite fio lite. I have 
been taking a view of all that could be shewn me, and 
find that all very near to nothing. Yojj have oiten heard 
me complain of finding myself disappointed by books of 
travels; I am afraid travel itself will end likewise in dis- 
appointment. One town, one country, is very like ano- 
ther: civilized nations have the same customs, and bar- 
barous nations have the same nature: there are indeed 
minute discriminations both of places and manners, 
which perhaps are not wanting of curiosity, but which a 
traveller seldom stays long enough to investigate and 
compare. The dull utterly neglect them, the acute see 
a little, and supply the rest with fancy and conjecture. 



LETTERS. 299 

I shall set out again to-morrow, but I shall not, I am 
afraid, see Aluwick, for Dr. Percy is not there. I hope 
to lodge to-morrow night at Berwick, and the next at 
Edinburgh, where I shall direct Mr. Drummond, book- 
seller at Ossian's Head, to take care of my letters. 

I hope the little dears are all well, and that my dear 
master and mistress may go some wither; but wherever 
you go do not forget. Madam, your most humble ser- 
vant. 

I am pretty well. 

August 15. 
Thus far I had written at Newcastle. I forgot to send 
it. I am now at Edinburgh; and have been this day run- 
ning about. I run pretty well. 



LETTER XVn. To Mrs. Thuale. 

DEA.R Madam, Edinburgh, August 17, 1773- 

ON the thirteenth I left Newcastle, and in the after- 
noon came to Aluwick, where we were treated with 
great civility by the Duke: I went through the apart- 
ments, walked on the wall, and climed the towers. That 
night we lay at Bedford, and on the next night came to 
Edinburgh. On Sunday (15th) I went to the English 
chapel. After dinner Dr. Robertson came in, and pro- 
mised to shew me the place. On Monday I saw their 
publick buildings: the cathedral, which I told Robert- 
son I wished to see because it had once been a church, 
the courts of justice, the parliament-house, the , ad- 
vocates' library, the repository of records, the college 
and its library, and the palace, particularly the old tower 
where the King of Scotland seized David Rizzio in the 
queen's presence. Most of their buildings are very mean; 



300 LETTERS. 

and the whole town bears some resemblance to the old 
part of Birmingham. 

Bosvvell has very handsome and spacious rooms; level 
with the gromid on one side of the house, and on the 
other four stories high. 

At dinner on Monday were the duchess of iDouglas, 
an old lady, who talks broad Scotch with a paralytick 
voice, and is scarcely understood by her own countrymen; 
the Lord Chief Baron, Sir Adolphus Oughton, and many 
more. At supper there was such a conflux of company 
that I could scarcely support the tumult. I have never 
been well in the whole journey, and am very easily dis- 
ordered. 

This morning I saw at breakfast Dr. Blacklock, the 
blind poet, who does not remember to have seen light, 
and is read to by a poor scholar, in Latin, Greek, and 
French. He was originally a poor scholar himself. I 
looked on him with reverence. To-morrow our journey 
begins; I know not when I shall write again. I am but 
poorly. I am, ^c. 



LETTER XVIIL To the Same. 

Dear Madam, Bamff, August 25, IJ'/S. 

It has so happened that though I am perpetually 
thinking on you, I could seldom find opportunity to 
write: I have in fourteen days sent only one letter; you 
must consider the fatigues of travel, and the difficulties 
encountered in a strange country. 

August 1 8th, I passed with Boswell, the Frith of Forth, 
and began our journey; in the passage we observed an 
island, which I persuaded my companions to survey. 
We found it a rock somewhat troublesome to climb, 
about a mile long, and half a mile broad; in the middle 
were the ruins of an old fort, which had on one of the 



LETTERS. SOI 

stones— Maria Re. 1 564. It had bet n only a blockhouse 
one story high. I measured two apto .^nents, of which 
the walls were entire, and found then *v-seven feet 

long, and twenty three broad. The roc Tie grass 

and many thistles, both cows and shet ^ zing. 

There was a spring of water. The name is In. ' -^ k 

on your maps. This visit took about an hour. Vv 
ourselves with being in a country all our own, anu 
went back to the boat, and landed at Kinghorn, a meat* 
town; and travelling through Kirkaldie, a very long 
town meanly built, and Cowpar, which I could not see 
because it was night, we came late to St. Andrew's, the 
m.ost ancient of the Scotch universities, and once the 
see of the primate of Scotland. The inn was full, but 
lodgings were provided for us at the house of the pro- 
fessor of rhetorick, a man of elegant manners, who 
shewed us, in the morning, the poor remains of a state- 
ly cathedral, demolished in Knox's reformation, and 
now only to be imagined by tracing its foundation, and 
contemplating the little ruins that are left. Here was 
once a religious house. Two of the vaults or cellars of 
the sub-prior are even yet entire. In one of them lives an 
old woman, who claims an hereditary residence in it, 
boasting that her husband was the sixth tenant of this 
gloomy mansion, in a lineal descent, and claims by her 
marriage with this lord of the cavern -an alliance wiih 
the Bruces. Mr. Boswell staid awhile to interrogate her, 
because he understood her language; she told him, that 
she and her cat lived together; that she had two sons 
somewhere, who might perhaps be dead; that when there 
were quality in the town notice was taken of her, and 
that now she was neglected, but did not trouble them. 
Her habitation contained all that she had; her turf for 
fire was laid in one place, and her balls of coal dust in 
another, but her bed seemed to be clean. Boswell asked 
her, if she never heard any noises; but she could tell 



302 LETTERS. 

him of nothing supernaturalj though she often wander- 
ed in the night among the graves and ruins, only she. 
had sometimes notice by dreams of the death of her 
relations. We then viewed the remains of a casile on 
the mari^in of the sea, in which the archbishops resided, 
and in which Cardinal Beatoun was killed. 

The professors who happened to be resident in the 
.Vacation made a publick dinner, and treated us very 
kindly and respectfully. They shewed us their colleges, 
in one of which there is a library that for luminousness 
and elegance may vie at least with the new edifice at 
Streatham. But learning seems not to prosper among 
them; one of their colleges has been lately alienated, and 
one of their churches lately deserted. An experiment was 
made of planting a shrubbery in the church, but it did 
not thrive. 

Why the place should thus fall to decay, I know not; 
for education, such as is here to be had, is sufficiently 
cheap. The term, or as they call it, their session, lasts 
seven months in the year, which the students of the 
highest rank and greatest expence may pass here for 
twenty pounds, in which are included board, lodging, 
books, and the continual instruction of three professors. 

20th. We left St. Andrew's, well satislied with our 
reception, and crossing the Frith of Tay, came to Dun- 
dee, a dirty, despicable town. We passed afterwards 
through Aberbrothick, famous once for an abbey, of 
which there are only a few fragments left, but those 
fragments testify that the fabrick was once of great ex- 
tent, and of stupendous magnificence. Two of the towers 
are yet standing though shattered: into one of them 
Boswell climbed, but found the stairs broken: the way 
into the other we did not see, and had not time to search; 
I believe it might be ascended, but the top, I think, is 
©pen. 



LETTERS. 303 

We lay at Montrose, a n ^vith a spacious 

area for the market, and an e. house. 

2 1st. We travelled towards A ther univer- 

sity, and in the way dined at L ■ Lv. i^ Mo*s, the 
Scotch Judge, who has lately wrii :.>■* - ^ book 

about the origin of language, in whic. non- 

keys up to men, and says that in som. .rles the 

human species have tails like other beasts. . , f^nqui^ed 
for these long-tailed men of Banks, and wa;. t v, " 
pleased that they had not been found in all his ], m 
nation. He talked nothing of this to me, and I hope . n 
parted friends; for we agreed pretty well, only we di;. 
puted in adjusting the claims of merit between a shop- 
keeper of London, and a savage of the American wilder- 
ness. Our opinions were, I think, maintained on both 
sides without full conviction; Monboddo declared boldly 
for the savage, and I perhaps for that reason, sided with 
the citizen. 

We came late to Aberdeen, where I found my dear 
mistress's letter, and learned that all our little people 
were happily recovered of the measles. Every part 
of your letter was pleasing. 

There are two cities of the name of Aberdeen; the 
old town, built about a mile inland, once the see of a 
bishop, which contains the King's college, and the re- 
mains of the cathedral: and the new town, which stands, 
for the sake of trade, upon a frith or arm of the sea, so 
that ships rest against the quay. 

The two cities have their separate magistrates, and 
the two colleges are in effect two universities, which 
confer degrees independently of each other. 

New Aberdeen is a large town, built almost wholly 
of that granite which is used for the new pavement in 
London, which, hard as it is, they square with very lit- 
tle difficulty. Here I first saw the women in plaids. The 
plaid makes at once a hood and cloak, without cutting 



304 LETTERS. 

or sewing, merely by the manner of drawing the oppo- 
site sides over the shoulders. The maids at the inns run 
over the house barefoot; and children, not dres&ed in 
rags, go without shoes or stockings. Shoes are indeed 
not yet in universal use; they came late into this coun- 
try. One of the professors told us, as we were mention- 
ing a fort built by Cromwell, that the country owed 
much of its present industry to Cromwell's soldiers. 
They taught us, said he, to raise cabbage and make 
shoes. How they lived without shoes may yet be seen: 
but in the passage through villages, it seems to hirai 
t'nat surveys their gardens, that when they had not cab- 
bage they had nothing. 

Education is here of the same price as at St. An- 
drew's, only the session is but from the 1st of Novem- 
ber to the 1st of April. The academical buildings seem 
rather to advance than decline. They shewed their libra- 
ries, which were not very splendid; but some manu- 
scripts were so exquisitely penned that I wished my dear 
mistress to have seen them. I had an unexpected plea- 
sure, by finding an old acquaintance now professor of 
physick in the King's college: we were on both sides 
glad of the interview, having not seen nor perhaps 
thought on one another, for many years; but we had no 
emulation, nor had either of us risen to the other's en- 
vy, and our old kindness was easily renewed. I hope we 
shall never try the effect of so long an absence, and that 
I shall always be. Madam, your, &c. 



LETTER XIX. To Mrs, Thrale. 

Dear Madam, Iverness, Aug: 28, 1773. 

AUGUST 23d, I had the honour of attending the 
Lord Provost of Aberdeen, and was presented with the 
freedom of the city, not in a gold box, but in good La- 



LETTERS. 305 

tin. Let me pay Scotland one just praisel there was no 
officer gaping for a fee; this could have been said of no 
city on the English side of the Tweed. I wore my pa- 
tent of freedom, pro more^ in my hat, from the new town 
to the old, about a mile. I then dined with my friend the 
professor of physick at his house, and saw the King's 
college. Boswell was very angry that the Aberdeen pro- 
fessors would not talk. When I was at the English 
church in Aberdeen, I happened to be espied by Lady 
Di. Middleton, whom I had sometime seen in London; 
she told what she had seen to Mr. Boyd, Lord Errol's 
brother, who wrote us an invitation to Lord Errol's 
house, called Slane's Castle. We went thither on the 
next day (24th August), and found a house, not old, ex- 
cept but one tower, built on the margin of the sea upon 
a rock, scarce accessible from the sea; at one corner a 
tower makes a perpendicular continuation of the lateral 
surface of the rock so that it is impracticable to walk 
round; the house inclosed a square court, and on all 
sides within the court is a piazza or gallery two stories 
high. We came in as we were invited to dinner, and 
after dinner offered to go; but Lady Errol sent us word 
by Mr. Boyd, that if we went before Lord Errol came 
home we must never be forgiven, and ordered out the 
coach to shew us two curiosities. We were first con- 
ducted by Mr. Boyd to Dunbuys, or the yellow rock. 
Dunbuys is a rock consisting of two protuberances, each 
perhaps one hundred yards round, joined together by a 
narrow neck, and separated from the land by a very 
narrow channel or gully. These rocks are the haunts 
of sea-fowl, whose clang, though this is not their season, 
we heard at a distance. The eggs and the young are 
gathered here in great numbers at the time of breeding. 
There is a bird here called a coote, which, though not 
much bigger than a duck, lays a larger egg than a goose. 
We went then to see the Buller or Boulloir of Buchan: 



306 LETTERS. 

Buchan is the name of the district, and the Buller is a 
small creek or gulf into which the sea flows through 
an arch of the rock. We walked round it and saw it 
black at a great depth. It has its name from the violent 
ebullition of the water, when high winds or high tides 
drive it up the arch into the bason. Walking a little 
farther I spied some boats, and told my companions that 
we would go into the Buller and examine it. There was 
no danger; all was calm; we went through the arch, and 
found ourselves in a narrow gulf surrounded by craggy 
rocks, of height not stupendous, but to a mediterranean 
visiter uncommon. On each side was a cave of which 
the fishermen knew not the extent, in which smugglers 
hide their goods, and sometimes parties of pleasure take 
a dinner. I am, i^c. 



LETTER XX. To Mrs. Thrale. 

Bearest Madam, Skie, Sept. 6, 1773. 

I AM now looking on the sea from a house of Sir 
Alexander Macdonald in the isle of Skie. Little did I 
once think of seeing this region of obscurity, and little 
did you once expect a salutation from this verge of Eu- 
ropean life. I have now the pleasure of going where 
nobody goes, and seeing what nobody sees. Our design 
is to visit several of the smaller islands, and then pass 
over to the southwest of Scotland. 

I returned from the sight of Buller's Buchan to Lord 
Errol's and, having seen his library, had for a time only 
to look upon the sea, which rolled between us and Nor- 
way. Next morning, August 25th, we continued our 
journey through a country not uncultivated, but so denud- 
ed of its woods, that in all this journey I had not travelled 
an hundred yards between hedges, or seen five trees fit 
for the carpenter. A few small plantations may be found, 



LETTERS. 307 

but I believe scarcely any thirty years old; at least, they 
are all posterior to the Union. This day we dined with a 
countiy gentleman, who has in his grounds the remains 
of a Druid's temple, which, when it is complete, is no 
thing more than a circle or double circle of stones placed 
at equal distances, with a flat stone, perhaps an altar, at a 
certain point, and a stone taller than the rest at the op- 
posite point. The tall stone is erected, I think, at the 
south. Of these circles there are many in all the unfre- 
quented parts of the island. The inhabitants of these 
parts respect them as memorials of the sepulture of some 
illustrious person. Here I saw a few trees. We lay 
at Bamff. 

August 26th. We dined at Elgin, where we saw the 
ruins of a noble cathedral; the chapter-house is yet stand- 
ing. A great part of Elgin is built with small piazzas to 
the lower story. We went on to Foris, over the heath- 
where Macbeth met the witches, but had no adventure; 
only in the way we saw for the first time some houses 
with fruit-trees about them. The improvements of the 
Scotch are for immediate profit; they do not yet think it 
quite worth their while to plant what will not produce 
something to be eaten or sold in a very little time. We 
rested at Foris. 

A very great proportion of the people are barefoot; 
shoes are not yet considered as necessaries of life. It is 
still the custom to send out the sons of gentlemen with 
out them into the streets and ways. There are more beg- 
gars than I have ever seen in England: they beg, if 
not silently, yet very modestly. 

Next day we came to Nairn, a miserable town, but a 
royal burgh, of which the chief annual magistrate is sty- 
led Lord Provost. In the neighbourhood we saw the 
castle of the old thane of Cawdor. There is one ancient 
tower with its battlements and winding stairs yet remain- 



308 LETTERS. 

ing; the rest of the house is, though not modern, of later 
erection. 

On the 28th we went to Fort George, which is ac- 
counted the most regular fortification in the island. 
The major of artillery walked with us round the walls, 
and shewed us the principles upon which every part was 
constructed, and the way in which it could be defended. 
We dined with the governor Sir Eyre Coot and his 
officers. It was a very pleasant and instructive day, but 
nothing puts my honoured mistress out of my mind. 

At night we came to Inverness, the last considerable 
town in the north, where we staid all the next day, for it 
was Sunday, and saw the ruins of what is called Mac- 
beth*s castle. It never was a large house, but was strongly 
situated. From Inverness we were to travel on horse- 
back. 

August 30th, we set out with four horses. We had 
two Highlanders to run by us, who wore active, ouicious, 
civil, and hardy. Our journey was for many miles along 
a military way made upon the banks of Lough Ness, a 
water about eighteen miles long, but not, I think, half 
a mile broad. Our horses were not bad, and the way was 
very pleasant; the rock out of which the road was cut 
was covered with birch trees, fern, and heath. The 
lake below was beating its bank by a gentle wind, and 
the rocks beyond the water on the right stood sometimes 
horrid and wild, and sometimes opened into a kind of 
bay, in which there was a spot of cultivated ground yel- 
low wi\h corn. In one part of the way we had trees on 
both sides for perhaps half a mile. — Such a length of 
shade perhaps Scotland cannot shew in any other place. 

You are not to suppose that here are to be any more 
towns or inns. We came to a cottage which they call 
the general's hut, where we alighted to dine, and had 
eggs and bacon, and mutton, with wine, rum, and whis- 
key. I had water. 



LETTERS. 309 

At a bridge over the river, which runs into the Ness, 
the rocks rise on three sides, with a direction almost 
perpendicular, to a great height; they are ia part cover- 
ed with trees, and exhibit a kind of dreadful magnifi- 
cence; — standing like the barriers of Nature placed to 
keep different orders of being in perpetual separation. 
Near this bridge is the Fall of Fiers, a famous cataract, 
of which, by clambering over the rocks, we obtained a 
view. The water was low, and therefore we had only 
the pleasure of knowing that rain would make it at once 
pleasing and formidable; there will then be a mighty 
flood, foaming along a rocky channel, frequently obstruct- 
ed by protuberances and exasperated by reverberation, at 
last precipitated with a sudden descent, and lost in the 
depth of a gloomy chasm. . 

We came somewhat late to Fort Augustus, where the 
lieutenant governor met us beyoud the gates, and apolo- 
gised that at that hour he could not, by the rules of a 
garrison, admit us otherwise than at a narrow door 
which only one can enter at a time. We were well enter- 
tained and well lodged, and next morning, after having 
viewed the fort, we pursued our journey. 

Our way now lay over the mountains, which are not 
to be passed by climbing them directly, but by travers- 
ing, so that as we went forward we saw our baggage 
following us below in a direction exactly contrary. There 
is in these ways much labour, but little danger; and per- 
haps other places of which very terrifick representations 
are made are not in themselves more formidable. These 
roads have all been made by hewing the rock away with 
pickaxes, or bursting it with gunpowder. The stones so 
separated are often piled loose as a wall by the wayside. 
We saw an inscription importing the year in which one 
of the regiments made two thousand yards of the road 
eastward. 
' After tedious travel of some hours we came to what I 



310 LETTERS. 

believe we must call a village, a place where there were 
three huts built of turf, at one of which we were to have 
our dinner and our bed, for we could not reach any 
better place that night. This place is called Enock in 
Glenmorrison. The house in which we lodged was dis- 
tinguished by a chimney, the rest had only a hole for 
the smoke. Here we had eggs, and mutton, and a chick- 
en and a sausage, and rum. In the afternoon tea was 
made by a very decent girl in a printed linen: she en- 
gaged me so much, that I made her a present of 
Cocker's Arithmetick. I am, is'c. 



LETTER XXL To Mrs, Thrale. 

Dearest Madam, Skie, Sept. 14, 17T2. 

THE post, which comes but once a week into these 
parts, is so soon to go, that I have not time to go on where 
I left off in my last letter. I have been several days in the 
island of Raarsa, and am now again in the isle of Skie, 
but at the other end of it. 

Skie is almost equally divided between the two great 
families of Macdonald and Macleod, other proprietors 
having only small districts. The two great lords do not 
know within twenty square miles the contents of their 
own territories. 

kept up but ill the reputation of Highland 

hospitality; we are now with Macleod, quite at the other 
end of the island, where there is a fine young gentleman 
and fine ladies. The ladies are studying Erse. I have a 
cold, and am miserably deaf; and am troublesome io 
Lady Macleod; I force her to speak loud, but she will 
seldom speak loud enough. 

Raarsa is an island about fifteen miles long and two 
broud, under the dominion of one gentleman who has 
three sons and ten daughters; the eldest is the beattty 



LETTERS. 311 

©f this part of the world and has been polished at Edin- 
burgh: they sing and dance, and without expence have 
upon their table most of what sea, air, or earth can afford. 
I intended to have written about Raarsa, but the post 
will not wait longer than while I send my compliments 
to my dear master and little mistresses. I am, ^c. 



LETTER XXIL To Mrs. Thrale. 

Dearest Madam, Skie, Sept. 21, 1773. 

I AM so vexed at the necessity of sending yesterday 
so short a letter, that I purpose to get a long letter be- 
forehand by writing something every day, which I may 
the more easily do, as a cold makes me now too deaf to 
take the usual pleasure in conversation. Lady Macleod 
is very good to me, and the place at which we now are 
is equal, in strength of situation, in the wildness of the 
adjacent country, and in the plenty and elegance of the 
domestick entertainment, to a castle in gothick ro- 
mances. The sea with a little island is before us; cascades 
playing within view. Close to the house is the formidable 
skeleton of an old castle probably Danish, and the whole 
mass of building stands upon a protuberance of rock, 
inaccessible till of late but by a pair of stairs on the sea 
side, and secure in ancient times against any enemy that 
was likely to invade the kingdom of Skie. 

Macleod has offered me an island; if it were not too 
far off, I should hardly refuse it: my island would be 
pleasanter than Brighthelmstone, if you and my master 
could come to it; but I cannot think it pleasant to live 
quite alone. 

Oblitusque meorum, obliviscendus et illis. 

That I should be elated by the dominion of an island to 
forgetfulness of my friends at Streatham I cannot believe, 



312 LETTERS. 

and I hope never to deserve that they should be willini; 
to forget me. 

It has happened that I have been often recognised in 
my journey where I did not expect it. At Aberdeen I 
found one of my acquaintance professor of physick; tur- 
ning aside to dine with a country gentleman, I was own- 
ed at table by one who had seen me at a philosophical 
lecture; at Macdonald's I was claimed by a naturalist, 
who wanders about the islands to pick up curiosities; and 
I had once in London attracted the notice of Lady Mac- 
leod. I will now go on with my account. 

The Highland girl made tea, and looked and talked 
not in elegantly; her father was by no means an ignorant 
or a weak man; there were books in the cottage, among 
which were some volumes of Prideaux*s Connection: 
this man's conversation we were glad of while we staid. 
He had been oiit^ as they call it, in forty-five, and still 
retained his old opinions He was going to America, 
because his rent was raised beyond what he thought 
himself able to pay. 

At night our beds were made, but we had some diffi- 
culty in persuading ourselves to lie down in them, 
though we had put on our own sheets; at last we ventured, 
and I slept very soundly in the vale of Glenmorrison, 
amidst the rocks and mountains. Next morning our 
landlord liked us so well, that he walked some miles 
with us for our company, through a country so wild and 
barren that the proprietor does not, with all his pressure 
upon his tenants, raise more than four hundred pounds 
a year for near one hundred square miles, or sixty thous- 
and acres. He let us know that he had forty head of black 
cattle, an hundred goats, and an hundred sheep, upon a 
farm that he remembered let at five pounds a-year, but 
for which he now paid twenty. He told us some stories 
of their march into England. At last he left us, and we 
went forward, winding among mountains, sometimes 



LETTERS. 313 

green and sometimes naked, commonly so steep as not 
easily to be climbed by the greatest vigour and activity: 
our way was often crossed by little rivulets, and we were 
entertained with small streams trickling from the rocks, 
which after heavy rains must be tremendous torrents. 

About noon we came to a small glen, so they call a 
valley, which compared with other places appeared rich 
and fertile; here our guides desired us to stop, that the 
horses might graze, for the journey was very laborious, 
and no more grass would be found. We made no diffi- 
culty of compliance, and I sat down to take notes on a 
green bank, with a small stream running at my feet, in 
the midst of savage solitude, with mountains before me, 
and on either hand covered with heath. I looked around 
me, and wondered that I was not more affected, but the 
mind is not at all times equally ready to be put in motion; 
if my mistress and master and Queeney had been there, 
we should have produced some reflections among us, 
either poetical or philosophical, for though solitude be 
the nurse of woe, conversation is often the parent of re- 
marks and discoveries. 

In about an hour we remounted, and pursued our jour- 
ney. The lake by which we had travelled for some time 
ended in a river, which we passed by abridge, and came 
to another glen, with a collection of huts, called Aukna- 
shealds; the huts were generally built of clods of earth, 
held together by the intertexture of vegetable fibres, of 
which earth there are great levels in Scotland which 
they call mosses. Moss in Scotland is bog in Ireland, 
and mosstrooper is bog-trotter; there was, however, one 
hut built of loose stones, piled up with great thickness 
into a strong though not solid wall. From this house we 
obtained some great pails of milk, and having brought 
bread with us, we were liberally regaled. The inhabi- 
tants, a very coarse tribe, ignorant of any language but 
Erse, gathered so fast about us, that if we had not had 

Vol, XII. O 



314 LETTERS. 

Highlanders with us, they might have caused more 
alarm than pleasure; they are called the Clan of Macrae. 

We had been told that nothing gratified the High- 
landers so much as snuff and tobacco, and had accord- 
ingly stored ourselves with both at Fort Augustus. Bos- 
well opened his treasure, and gave them each a piece of 
tobacco roll. We had more bread than we could eat for 
the present, and were more liberal than provident. Bos- 
well cut it in slices, and gave them an opportunity of 
tasting wheaten bread for the first time. I then got some 
halfpence for a shilling, and made up the deficiencies of 
Boswell'sdistribution, who had given some money among 
the children. We then directed that the mistress of the 
stone house should be asked what we must pay her: she 
who perhaps had never before sold any thing but cattle, 
knew not, I believe, well what to ask, and referred her- 
self to us: we obliged her to make some demand, and 
one of the Highlanders settled the account with her at a 
shilling. One of the men advised her, with the. cunning 
that clowns never can be without, to ask more; but she 
said that a shilling was enough. We gave her half-a- 
crown, and she offered part of it again. The Macraes 
were so well pleased with our behaviour, that they de- 
clared it the best day they had seen since the time of 
the old Laird of Macleod, who, I suppose, like us, stop- 
ped in their valley, as he was travelling to Skie. 

We were mentioning this view of the Highlander's 
life at Macdonald's, and mentioning the Macraes with 
some degree of pity, when a Highland lady informed 
us that we might spare our tenderness, for she doubted 
not but the woman who supplied us with milk was mis- 
tress of thirteen or fourteen milch cows. 

I cannot forbear to interrupt my narrative. Boswell, 
with some of his troublesome kindness, has informed 
this family, and reminded me, that the 18th of Septem- 
ber is my birthday. 1 he return of my birthday, if 1 



LETTERS. 3rMK4^ 

remember it, fills me with thoughts which it seems to 
be the general care of humanity to escape. I can now 
look back upon threescore and four years, in which lit- 
tle has been done, and Utile has been enjoyed; a life di- 
versified by misery, spent part in the sluggishness of 
penury, and part under the violence of pain, in gloomy 
discontent or importunate distress. But perhaps I am 
better than I should have been if I had been less affiict- 
ed. With this I shall try to be content. 

In proportion as there is less pleasure in retrospec- 
tive considerations, the mind is more disposed to wan- 
der forward into futurity; but at sixty -four what promi- 
ses, however liberal, of imaginary good can futurity 
venture to make? yet something will be always promis- 
ed, and some promises will be always credited. 1 am 
hoping and I am praying that I may live better in the 
time to come, whether long or short, than I have yet 
lived, and in the solace of that hope endeavour to repose. 
Dear Queeney's day is next. I hope she at sixty-four 
will have less to regret. 

I will now complain no more, but tell my mistress of 
my travels. 

After we left the Macraes, we travelled on through a 
country like that which we passed in the morning. The 
Highlands are very uniform, for there is little variety in 
universal barrenness; the rocks, however, are not all 
naked, for some have grass on their sides, and birches 
and alders on their tops: in the valleys are often broad 
and clear streams, which have little depth, and common- 
ly run very quick; the channels are made by the violence 
of the wintry floods; the quickness of the stream is in 
proportion to the dechvity of the descent, and the 
breadth of the channel makes the water shallow in a dry 
season. 

There are red deer and roebucks in the mountains, 
but we found only goats in the road, and had very little 



616 LETTERS. 

entertaintnent as we travelled either for the eye or ear. 
There are, I fancy, no singing birds in the Highlands. 

Towards night we came to a very formidable hill, call- 
ed Rattiken, which we climbed with more difficulty than 
we had yet experienced, and at last came to Glanelg, a 
place on the sea-side opposite to Skie. We were by this 
time weary and disgusted, nor was our humour much 
mended by our inn, which, though it was built of lime 
and slate, the Highlander's description of a house which 
he thinks magnificent, had neither wine, bread, eggs, 
nor any thing that we could eat or drink. When we 
were taken up stairs, a dirty fellow bounced out of the 
bed where one of us was to lie. Bosvvell blustered, but 
nothing could be got. At last a gentleman in the neigh- 
bourhood, who heard of our arrival, sent us rum and 
white sugar. Boswell was now provided for in part, and 
the landlord prepared some mutton chops, which we 
could not eat, and killed two hens, of which Boswell 
made his servant broil a limb, with what effect I know 
not. We had a lemon and a piece of bread, which sup- 
plied me with my supper. When the repast was ended, 
Ave began to deliberate upon bed Mrs. Boswell had 
warned us that we should catch something, and had given 

lis sheets for our security; for and — — — ., she 

said, came back from Skie, so scratching themselves. I 
thought sheets a slender defence against the confederacy 
with which we were threatened, and by this time our 
Highlanders had found a place where they could get 
some hay: I ordered hay to be laid thick upon the bed, 
and slept upon it in my great coat: Boswell laid sheets 
upon his bed, and reposed in linen like a gentleman. 
The horses were turned out to grass, with a man to 
■watch them. The hill Rattiken and the inn at Glanelg, 
were the only things of which we, or travellers yet 
more delicate, could find any pretensions to complain. 

Sept. 2d, I rose rustling from the hay, and went to 
tea, which I forgot whether we found or brought. We 



LETTERS. Sir 

saw the isle of Skie before us, darkening the horizon 
with its rocky coast. A boat was procured, and wc 
launched into one of the straits of the Atlantick ocean. 
We had a passage of about twelve miles to the point 

where resided, having come from his seat in the 

middle of the island to a small house on the shore, as 
we believe, that he might with less reproach entertain 
us meanly. If he aspired to meanness, his retrograde 
ambition was completely gratified, but he did not suc- 
ceed equally in escaping reproach. He had no cook; 
nor I suppose much provision, nor had the Lady the 
common decencies of her tea-table: we picked up our 
sugar with our fingers. Boswell was very angry, and 
reproached him with his improper parsimony: I did not 
much reflect upon the conduct of a man with whom I 
was not likely to converse as long at any other time. 

You will now expect that I should give you some ac- 
count of the isle of Skie, of which, though I have been 
twelve days upon it, I have little to say. It is an island 
perhaps fifty miles long, so much indented by inlets of 
the sea that there is no part of it removed from the wa- 
ter more than six miles. No part that I have seen is 
plain: you are always climbing or descending, and every 
step is upon rock or mire. A walk upon ploughed 
ground in England is a dance upon carpets compared to 
the toilsome drudgery of wandering in Skie. There is 
neither town nor village in the island, nor have I seen 
any house but Macleod's, that is not much below your 
habitation at Brighthelmstone. In the mountains there 
are stags and roebucks, but no hares, and few rabbits; 
nor have I seen any thing that interested me as a zoolo- 
gist, except an otter, bigger than I thought an otter 
could have been. 

You are perhaps imagining that I am withdrawing 
from the gay and the busy world into regions of peace 
and pastoral felicity, and am enjoying the reliques of 



318 LETTERS. 

the golden age; that I am surveying Nature's magnifi- 
cence from a mountain, or remarking her minuter beau- 
ties on the flowery bank of a winding rivulet; that I am 
invigorating myself in the sunshine, or delighting my 
imagination with being hidden from the invasion of hu- 
man evils and human passions in the darkness of a 
thicket; that I am busy in gathering shells and pebbles 
on the shore, or contemplative on a rock, from which I 
look upon the water, and consider how many waves are 
rolling between me and Streatham. 

The use of travelling is to regulate imagination by re- 
ality, and instead of thinking how things may be, to see 
them as they are. Here are mountains which I should 
once have climbed, but to climb steeps is now very labo- 
rious, and to descend them dangerous; and I am now 
content with knowing, that by scrambling up a rock, 
I shall only see other rocks, and a wider circuit of bar- 
ren desolation. Of streams, we have here a sufBcient 
number, but they murmur not upon pebbles, but upon 
rocks. Of flowers, if Chloris herself were here, 1 could 
present her only with the bloom of heath. Of lawns 
and thickets, he must read that would know them, for 
here is little sun and no shade. On the sea I look from 
my window, but am not much tempted to the shore; for 
since I came to this island, almost every breath of air 
has been a storm, and what is worse, a storm with all 
its severity, but without its magnificence, for the sea is 
here so broken into channels that there is not a sufficient 
volume of water either for lofty surges or a loud roar. 

On Sept. 6th, we left to visit Raarsa, the is- 
land which I have already mentioned. We were to cross 
part of Skie on horseback; a mode of travelling very un- 
comfortable, for the road is so narrow, where any can be 
found, that only one can go, and so craggy that the at- 
tention can never be remitted: it allows, therefore, nei- 
ther the gaiety of conversation, nor the laxity of solitude^ 



LETTERS. 319 

nor has it in itself the amusement of much variety, as it 
affords only all the possible transpositions of bog, rock, 
and rivulet. Twelve miles, by computation, make a rea- 
sonable journey for a day. 

At night we came to a tenant's house, of the first rank 
of tenants, where we were entertained better than at the 
landlord's. There were books both English and Latin. 
Company gathered about us, and we heard some talk of the 
second sight, and some talk of the events of forty-five; a 
year which will not soon be forgotten among the Island- 
ers. The next day we were confined by a storm. The 
company, I think, increased, and our entertainment was 
not only hospitable but elegant. At night, a minister's 
sister, in very fine brocade, siing Erse songs^ I wished 
to know the meaning, but the Highlanders are not much 
used to scholastick questions, and no translations could 
be obtained. 

Next day, Sept. 8th, the weather allowed us to depart; 
a good boat was provided us, and we went to Raarsa 
under the conduct of Mr. Malcolm Macleod, a gentle- 
man who conducted Prince Charles through the moun- 
tains in his distresses. The Prince, he says, was more 
active than himself; they were, at least one night without 
any shelter. 

The wind blew enough to give the boat a kind of dan- 
cing agitation, and in about three or four hours Ave arri- 
ved at Raarsa, where we were met by the Laird and his 
friends upon the shore. Raarsa, for such is his title, is 
master of two islands; upon the smaller of which, called 
Rona, he has only flocks and herds. Rona gives title to 
his eldest son. The money which he raises annually by 
rent from all his dominions, which contain at least fifty 
thousand acres, is not believed to exceed two hundred 
and fifty pounds; but as he keeps a large farm in his own 
hands, he sells every year great numbers of cattle, which 
add to his revenue, and his table is furnished from the 



420 r.ETTERS. 

farm and from the sea with very little expense, except 
for tliose things this country does not produce, and of 
those he is very liberal. The wine circulates vigorously; 
and the tea, chocolate, and coftee, however they are got, 
are always at hand. I am, kstc. 
We are this morning trying to get out of Skie. 



LETTER XXIII. To Mrs, Thrale. 

Dear Madam, Skie, Sept. 24, 1773. 

I AM still in Skie. Do you remember the song? 

Every island is a prison 
Strongly guarded by the sea. 

We have at one time no boat, and at another may have 
loo much wind; but of our reception here we have no 
reason to complain. We are now with Colonel Macleod, 
in a more pleasant place than I thought Skie could afford. 
Now to the narrative. 

We were received at Raarsa on the sea-side, and after 
clambering with some difficulty over the rocks, a labour 
which the traveller, wherever he reposes himself on land, 
must in these islands be contented to endure; we were in- 
troduced into the house, which one of the company called 
the Court of Raarsa, with politeness which not the Court 
of Versailles could have thought defective. The house is 
not large, though we were told in our passage that it 
liad eleven fine rooms; nor magnificently furnished, but 
our utensils were most commonly silver. We went up 
into a dining-room, about as large as your blue room, 
where we had something given us to eat, and tea and 
coffee. 

Raarsa himself is a man of no inelegant appearance, 
and of manners uncommonly refined. Lady Raarsa makes 
no very sublime appearance for a sovereign, but is a good 



LETTERS. 321 

Ihousewife, and a very prudent and diligent conductress 
of her family. Miss Flora Macleod is a celebrated beauty; 
has been admired at Edinburgh; dresses her head very 
higli; and has manners so lady-like, that I wish her 
headdress was lower. The rest of the nine girls are all 
pretty; the youngest is between Queeney and Lucy. The 
youngest boy, of four years old, runs barefoot, and wan- 
dered with us over the rocks to see a mill. I believe he 
would walk on that rough ground without shoes ten 
miles in a day. 

The Laird of Raarsa has sometimes disputed the chief- 
tainry of the clan with Macleod of Skie; but being much 
nferior in extent of possessions, has I suppose, been 
forced to desist. Raarsa and its provinces have descended 
to its present predecessor through a succession of four 
hundred years, without any increase or diminution. It 
was indeed lately in danger of forfeiture; but the old 
Laird joined some prudence with his zeal, and when 
Prince Charles landed in Scotland, made over his estate 
to his son, the present Laird, and led one hundred men 
of Raarsa into the field, with officers of his own family. 
Eighty-six only came back after the last battle. The 
Prince was hidden in his distress, two nights at Raarsa; 
and the King's troops burnt the whole country, and kil- 
led some of the cattle. 

You may guess at the opinions that prevail in this 
country; they are, however, content with fighting for 
their king; they do not drink for him. We had no foolish 
healths. At night, unexpectedly to us who were strangers, 
the carpet was taken up; the fiddler of the family came 
up, and a very vigorous and general dance was begun. As 
I told you, we were two-and-thirty at supper; there were 
full as many dancers; for though all who supped did not 
dance, some danced of the young people who did not 
,sup. Raarsa himself danced with his children, and old 
Malcolm, in his fillibeg, was as nimble as when he led 

O 2 



322 LETTERS. 

the prince over the mountains. When they had danced 
themselves weary, two tables were spread, and I suppose 
at least twenty dishes were upon them. In this country 
some preparations of milk are always served up at sup- 
per, and sometimes in the place of tarts at dinner. The 
table was not coarsely heaped, but at once plentiful and 
elegant. They do not pretend to make a loaf; there are 
only cakes, commonly of oats or barley, but they made 
me very nice cakes of wheeit flour. I always sat at the 
left hand of Lady Raarsa, and young Macleod of Skicj 
the chieftain of the clan, sat on the right. 

After supper a young lady, who was visiting, sung 
Erse songs, in which Lady Raarsa joined prettily enough, 
but not gracefully; the young ladies sustained the chorus 
better. They are very little used to be asked questions, 
and not well prepared with answers. When one of the 
songs was over, I asked the princess that sat next to me, 
What is that about? I question if she conceived that I 
did not understand it. For the entertainment of the com- 
pany, said she. But, Madam, what is the meaning of it? 
It is a love song. This was all the intelligence that I 
could obtain; nor have I been able to procure the transla- 
lion of a single line of Erse. 

At twelve it was bed time. I had a chamber to myself, 
which, in eleven rooms to forty people, was more than 
my share. How the company and the family were dis- 
tributed is not easy to tell. Macleod the chieftain, and 
Boswell, and I, had all single chambers on the first floor. 
There remained eight rooms only for at least seven-and- 
thirty lodgers. I suppose they put up temporary beds in 
the dining-room, where they stowed all the young ladies. 
There was a room above stairs with six beds, in which 
they put ten men. The rest in my next. 



LETTERS. 323 



LETTER XXIV. To Mrs. Thhale. 

Dearest Madam, Ostich in Skie, Sept. 30, 17/3. 

I AM still confined in Skie. We were unskilful travel- 
lers, and imagined that the sea was an open road which 
we could pass at pleasure; but we have now learned, with 
some pain, that we may still wait for a long time the 
caprices of the equinoctial winds, and sit reading or 
writing as I now do, while the tempest is rolling the sea, 
or roaring in the mountains. I am now no longer pleased 
with the delay; you can hear from me but seldom, and 1 
cannot at all hear from you. It comes into my mind that 
some evil may happen, or that I might be of use while I 
am away. But these thoughts are vain; the wind is violent 
and adverse, and our boat cannot yet come. I must con- 
tent myself with writing to you, and hoping that you will 
some time receive my letter. Now to my narrative. 

Sept. 9th. Having passed the night as is usual, I rose, 
and found the dining-room full of company, we feasted 
and talked, and when the evening came it brought musick 
and dancing. Young Macleod, the great proprietor of 
Skie and head of his clan, was very distinguishable; a 
young man of nineteen; bred awhile at St. Andrew's, 
and afterwards at Oxford, a pupil of G. Strahan. He is a 
young man of a mind as much advanced as I have ever 
known; very elegant of manners, and very graceful in 
his person. He has the full spirit of a feudal chief; and I 
was very ready to accept his invitation to Dunvegan. All 
Raarsa's children are beautiful. The ladies all, except 
the eldest, are in the morning dressed in their hair. The 
true Highlander never wears more than a ribband on 
her head till she is married. 

On the third day Boswell went out with old Malcolm 
to see a ruined castle, which he found less entire than 



324 LETTERS. 

was promised, but he saw the country. I did not go, for 
the castle was perhaps ten miles off, and there is no 
riding at Raarsa, the whole island being rock or moun- 
tain, from which the cattle often fall and are destroyed. 
It is very barren, and maintains, as near as I could collect, 
about seven hundred inhabitants, perhaps ten to a square 
mile. In these countries you are not to suppose that you 
shall find villages or inclosures. The traveller wanders 
through a naked desert, gratified sometimes, but rarely, 
with the sight of cows, and now and then finds a heap of 
loose stones and turf in a cavity between rocks, where a 
being born with all those powers which education ex- 
pands, and all those sensations which culture refines, is 
condemned to shelter itself from the wind and rain. 
Philosophers there are who try to make themselves 
believe that this life is happy; but they believe it only 
while they are saying it, and never yet produced convic- 
tion in a single mind. He, whom want of words or images 
sunk into silence, still thought, as he thought before, 
that privation of pleasure can never please, and that con- 
tent is not to be much envied, when it has no other 
principle than ignorance of good. 

This gloomy tranquillity, which some may call forti- 
tude, and others wisdom, was, I believe, for a long time to 
be very frequently found in these dens of poverty: every 
man was content to live like his neighbours, and never 
wandering from home, saw no mode of life preferable to 
his own, except at the house of the laird, or the laird's 
nearest relations, whom he considered as a superior order 
of beings, to whose luxuries or honours he had no pre- 
tensions. But the end of this reverence and submission 
seems now approaching; the Highlanders have learned 
that there are countries less bleak and barren than their 
own, where, instead of working for the laird, every man 
will till his own ground, and eat the produce of his own 
labour. Great numbers have been induced by this discov- 



LETTERS. 325 

ery to go every year for some time past to America. 
Macdonald and Macleod of Skie have lost many labourers, 
but Raarsa has not been forsaken by a single inhabitant. 

Rona is yet more rocky and barren than Raarsa, and 
though it contains perhaps four thousand acres, is pos- 
sessed only by a herd of cattle and the keepers. 

I find myself not very able to walk upon the moun- 
tains, but one day I went out to see the walls yet standing 
of an ancient chapel. In almost every island the super- 
stitious votaries of the Romish church erected places 
of worship, in which the drones of convents or cathe- 
drals performed the holy offices; but by the active zeal 
of Protestant devotion, almost all of them have sunk into 
ruin. The chapel of Raarsa is now only considered as 
the burying place of the family, and I suppose of the 
whole island. 

We would now have gone away and left room for 
others to enjoy the pleasures of this little court; but the 
wind detained us till the 12th, when, though it was Sun- 
day, we thought it proper to snatch the opportunity of a 
calm day. Raarsa accompanied us in his six-oared boat, 
which he said was his coach-and-six. It is indeed the 
vehicle in which the ladies take the air and pay their 
visits, but they have taken very little care for accommoda- 
tions. There is no way in or out of the boat for a woman, 
but by being carried; and in the boat thus dignified with 
a pompous name, there is no seat but an occasional bun- 
dle of straw. Thus we left Raarsa; the seat of plenty, ci- 
vility, and cheerfulness. 

We dined at a publick house at Port Re; so called 
because one of the Scottish kings landed there, in a pro- 
gress through the Western Isles. Raarsa paid the reck- 
oning privately. We then got on horseback, and by a 
short but very tedious journey came to Kingsburgh, at 
which the same king lodged after he landed. Here I had 
the honour of saluting the far-famed Miss Flora Mac- 



326 LETTERS. 

donald, who conducted the Prince, dressed as her maid, 
through the English forces from the island of Lewes; 
and, when she came to Side, dined with the English offi- 
cers, and left her maid below. She must then have been a 
very young lady; she is now not old; of a pleasing person, 
and elegant behaviour. She told me that she thought 
herself honoured by my visit; and I am sure that what- 
ever regard she bestowed on me was liberally repaid. 
" If thou likest her opinions, thou wilt praise her vir- 
tue." She was carried to London, but dismissed without 
a trial, and came down with Malcolm Macleod, against 
whom sufficient evidence could not be procured. She 
and her husband are poor, and are going to try their for- 
time in America. 

Sic rerum volvitur orbis. 

At Kingsburgh we were very liberally feasted, and I 
slept in the bed in which the Prince reposed in his dis- 
tress; the sheets which he used were never put to any 
meaner offices, but were wrapped up by the lady of the 
house, and at last, according to her desire, were laid 
round her in her grave. These are not Whigs. 

On the 13th, travelling partly on horseback where 
we could not row, and partly on foot where we could 
not ride, we came to Dunvegan, which I have described 
already. Here, though poor Macleod had been left by his 
grandfather overwhelmed with debts, we had another 
exhibition of feudal hospitality. There were two stags in 
the house, and venison came to the table every day in its 
various forms. Macleod, besides his estate in Skie, larger 
I suppose than some English counties, is proprietor of 
nine inhabited isles; and of his islands uninhabited I 
doubt if he very exactly knows the number. 1 told him 
that he was a mighty monarch. Such dominions fill an 
Englishman with envious wonder; but when he surveys 
the naked mountains, and treads the quaking moor, and 



LETTERS. 327 

wanders over the wild regions of gloomy barrenness; his 
wonder may continue, but his envy ceases. The unprofit- 
ableness of these vast domains can be conceived only by 
the means of positive instances. The heir of Col^ an is- 
land not far distant, has lately told me how wealthy he 
should be if he could let Rum^ another of his islands, for 
two-pence halfpenny an acre; and Macleod has an estate, 
which the surveyor reports to contain eighty thousand 
acres, rented at six hundred pounds a year. 

While we were at Dunvegan the wind was high, and 
the rain violent, so that we were not able to put forth a 
boat to fish in the sea, or to visit the adjacent islands, 
which may be seen from the house; but we filled up the 
time as we could, sometimes by talk, sometimes by rea- 
ding. I have never wanted books in the isle of Skie. 

We were invited one day by the Laird and Lady of 
Muck, one of the Western islands, two miles long and 
three quarters of a mile high. He has half his island in 
his own culture, and upon the other half live one hundred 
and fifty dependents, who not only live upon the product, 
but export corn sufficient for the payment of their rent. 

Lady Macleod has a son and four daughters; they have 
lived long in England, and have the language and man- 
ners of English ladies. We lived with them very easily. 
The hospitality of this remote region is like that of the 
golden age. We have found ourselves treated at every 
house as if we came to confer a benefit. 

We were eight days at Dunvegan; but we took the 
first opportunity which the weather afforded, after the 
first days, of going away, and, on the 21st, went to Ulin- 
ish, where we were well entertained, and wandered a lit- 
tle after curiosities. In the afternoon an interval of calm 
sunshine courted us out to see a cave on the shore famous 
for its echo. When we went into the boat, one of our com- 
panions was asked in Erse, by the boatmen, who they 
were that came with him? He gave us characters, I sup- 



328 LETTERS. 

pose, to our advantage, and was asked, in the spirit of 
the Highlands, whether I could recite a long series of 
ancestors? The boatman said, as I perceived afterwards, 
that they heard the cry of an English ghost. This, 
Bos well says, disturbed him. We came to the cave, and 
clambering up the rocks, came to an arch, open at one 
end, one hundred and eighty feet long, thirty broad in 
the broadest part, and about thirty high. There was no 
echo; such is the fidelity of report; but I saw what I had 
never seen before, tnuscles and whilks in their natural 
state. There was another arch in the rock, open at both 
ends. 

Sept. 23d. We removed to Talisker, a house occu- 
pied by Mr. Macleod, a lieutenant-colonel in the Dutch 
service. Talisker has been long in the possession of this 
gentleman, and therefore has a garden well cultivated; and, 
what is here very rare, is shaded by trees; a place where 
the imagination is more amused cannot easily be found. 
The mountains about it are of great height, with water- 
falls succeeding one another so fast, that as one ceases 
to be heard another begins. Between the mountains there 
is a small valley extending to the sea, which is not far 
off, beating upon a coast very difficult of access. 

Two nights before our arrival two boats were driven 
upon this coast by the tempest: one of them had a pilot 
that knew the passage, the second followed, but a third 
missed the true course, and was driven forward with 
great danger of being forced into the vast ocean, but 
however gained at last some other island. The crews 
crept to Talisker, almost lifeless with wet, cold, fatigue, 
and terror, but the lady took care of them. She is a 
woman of more than common qualifications; having 
travelled with her husband; she speaks four languages. 

You find that all the islanders, even in these recesses 
of life, are not barbarous. One of the ministers who has 
adhered to us almost all the time is an excellent scholar. 



LETTERS. 329 

We have now with us the young Laird of Coi^ who is 
heir, perhaps, to two hundred square miles of land. He 
has first studied at Aberdeen, and afterwards gone to 
Hertfordshire to learn agriculture, being much impres- 
sed with the desire of improvement: he likewise has the 
notions of a chief, and keeps a piper. At Macleod's the 
bagpipe always played while we were dining. 

Col has undertaken, by permission of the waves and 
wind, to carry us about several of the islands, with which 
he is acquainted enough to shew us whatever curious is 
given by nature or left by antiquity; but we grew afraid 
of deviating from our way home, lest vve should be shut 
up for months upon some little protuberance of rock, 
that just appears above the sea, and perhaps is scarcely 
marked upon a map. 

You remember the Doge of Genoa, who being asked 
what struck him most at the French court? answered, 
■•' Myself." I cannot think many things here more likely 
to affect the fancy than to see Johnson ending his sixty- 
fourth year in the wilderness of the Hebrides. But now 
I am here, it will gratify me very little to return without 
seeing, or doing my best to see what those places afford. 
I have a desire to instruct myself in the whole system 
of pastoral life; but I know not whether 1 shall be able to 
perfect the idea. However I have many pictures in my 
mind, which I could not have had without this journey, 
and should have passed it with great pleasure had you 
and master, and Queeney been in the party. We should 
have excited the attention and enlarged the observation 
of each other, and obtained many pleasing topicks of fu- 
ture conversation. As it is, I travel with my mind too 
much at home, and perhaps miss many things worthy 
of observation, or pass them with transient notice; so 
that the images, for want of that re-impression which 
discussion and comparison produce, easily fade away: 
hut I keep a book of remarks, and Boswell writes a regit- 



330 LETTERS. 

lar journal of our travels, which, I think, contains as 
much of what I say and do as of all other occurrences 
together; " for such a faithful chronicler is Griffith." 

I hope, dearest Madam, you are equally careful to re- 
posit proper memorials of all that happens to you and 
your family, and then when we meet we shall tell our 
stories. I wish you had gone this summer in your usual 
splendour to Brighthelmstone. 

Mr. Thrale probably wonders how I live all this time 
without sending to him for money. Travelling in Scot- 
land is dear enough, dearer in proportion to what the 
country affords than in England; but residence in the 
isles is unexpensive. Company is, I think, considered as 
a supply of pleasure, and a relief of that tediousness of 
life which is felt in every place, elegant or rude. Of wine 
and punch they are very liberal, for they get them 
cheap; but as there is no customhouse on the island, 
they can hardly be considered as smugglers. Their 
punch is made without lemons or any substitute. 

Their tables are very plentiful; but a very nice man 
would not be pampered. As they have no meat but as 
they kill it, they are obliged to live while it lasts upon the 
same flesh. They kill a sheep, and set mutton boiled and 
roast on the table together. They have fish both of the 
sea and of the brooks; but they can hardly conceive that 
it requires any sauce. To sauce in general they are 
strangers; now and then butter is melted, but I dare not 
always take, lest I should offend by disliking it. Barley- 
broth is a constant dish, and is made well in every house. 
A stranger if he is prudent, will secure his share, for 
it is not certain that he will be able to eat any thing else. 

Their meat being often newly killed is very tough, 
and as nothing is sufficiently subdued by the fire, is not 
easily to be eaten. Carving is here a very laborious em- 
ployment, for the knives are never whetted. Table 
knives are not of long subsistence in the Highlands; 



LETTERS. 331 

every man while arms were a regular part of dress, had 
his knife and fork appendant to his dirk. Knives they 
now lay upon the table, but the handles are apt to shew 
that they have been in other hands, and the blades have 
neither brightness nor edge. 

Of silver there is no want; and it will last long, for it 
is never cleaned. They are a nation just rising from bar- 
barity; long contented with necessaries, now somewhat 
studious of convenience, but not yet arrived at delicate 
discriminations. Their linen is however both clean and 
fine. Bread, such as we mean by that name, I have never 
seen in the isle of Skie. They have ovens, for they bake 
their pies; but they never ferment their meal, nor mould 
a loaf. Cakes of oats and barley are brought to the table, 
but I believe wheat is reserved for strangers. They are 
commonly too hard for me, and therefore I take potatoes 
to my meat, and am sure to find them on almost every 
table. 

They retain so much of the pastoral life, that some 
preparation of milk is commonly one of the dishes both 
at dinner and supper. Tea is always drank at the usual 
times; but in the morning the table is polluted with a 
plate of slices of strong cheese. This is peculiar to the 
Highlands: at Edinburgh there are always honey and 
sweet-meats on the morning tea-table. 

Strong liquors they seem to love. Every man, perhaps 
woman, begins the day with a dram; and the punch is 
made both at dinner and supper. 

They have neither wood nor coal for fuel, but burn 
peat or turf in their chimnies. It is dug out of the moors 
or mosses, and makes a strong and lasting fire, not 
always very sweet, and somewhat apt to smoke the pot. 

The houses of inferior gentlemen are very small, and 
every room serves many purposes. In the bed-rooms, 
perhaps, are laid up stores of different kinds; and the 
parlour of the day is a bed room at night. In the room 



332 LETTERS. 

which I inhabited last, about fourteen feet square, there 
were three chests of drawers, a lont^ chest for larger 
clothes, two closet cupboards, and the bed. Their rooms 
are commonly dirty, of which they seem to have little 
sensibility, and, if they had more, clean floors would be 
difficultly kept, where the first step from the door is into 
the dirt. They are very much inclined to carpets, and 
seldom fail to lay down somethinsj under their feet, 
better or worse, as they happen to be furnished. 

The Highland dress being forbidden by law, is very 
little used; sometimes it may be seen, but the English 
traveller is struck with nothing so much at the nudite 
des /lies of the common people. 

Skie is the greatest island, or the greatest but one, 
among the Hebrides. Of the soil I have already given 
some account; it is generally barren, but some spots are 
not wholly unfruitful. The gardens have apples and 
pears, cherries, strawberries, rasberries, currants, and 
gooseberries, but all the fruit that I have seen is small. 
They attempt to sow nothing but oats and barley. Oats 
constitute the bread corn of the place. Their harvest is 
about the beginning of October; and being so late, is 
very much subject to disappointments from the rains 
that follow the equinox. This year has been particularly 
disastrous. Their rainy season lasts from Autumn to 
Spring. They have seldom very hard frosts; nor was it 
ever known that a lake was covered with ice strong 
enough to bear a skaiter. The sea round them is always 
open. The snow falls, but soon melts; only in 1771, they 
had a cold spring, in which the island was so long covered 
with it, that many beasts, both wild and domestick, per- 
ished, and the whole country was reduced to distress, 
from which I know not if it is even yet recovered. 

The animals here are not remarkably small; perhaps 
they recruit their breed from the main land. The cows are 
sometimes without horns. The horned and unhorned cat- 



LETTERS. 333 

tie arc not accidental variations, but different species; 
they will however breed together 

October 3d, the wind is now changed, and if we snatch 
the moment of opportunity, an escape from this island 
is become practicable; I have no reason to complain of 
my reception, yet I long to be again at home. 

You and my master may perhaps expect, after this 
description of Skie, some account of myself. My eye is, I 
am afraid, not fully recovered; my ears are not mended; 
my nerves seem to grow weaker, and I have been other- 
wise not as well as I sometimes am, but think myself 
lately better. This climate perhaps is not within my de- 
gree of healthy latitude. 

Thus 1 have given my most honoured mistress the 
story of me and my little ramble. We are now going to 
some other isle, to what we know not; the wind will tell 
us. I am, &c. 



LETTER XXV. To Mrs. Thrale. 

Dearest Madam, Mull, Oct. 15, 1773. 

THOUGH I have written to Mr. Thrale, yet having 
a little more time ihan was promised me, I would not 
suffer the messenger to go without some token of my 
duty to my mistress, who, I suppose, expects the usual 
tribute of intelligence, a tribute which I am not very able 
to pay. 

October 3d, after having been detained by storms 
many days in Skie, we left it, as we thought with a fair 
wind: but a violent gust, which Bos. had a great mind to 
call a tempest, forced us into Coli, an obscure island; on 
which, 



nulla campis 



Arbor sestiva recreatur aura. 



334 LETTERS. 

There is literally no tree upon the island; part of it is 
a sandy waste, over which it would be dangerous to travel 
in dry weather and with a really high wind. It seems to 
be little more than one continued rock, covered from 
space to space with a thin layer of earth. It is, however, 
according to the Highland notion very populous, and 
life is improved beyond the manners of Skie; for the 
huts are collected into little villages, and every one had 
a small garden of roots and cabbage. The laird has a new 
house built by his uncle, and an old castle inhabited by 
his ancestors. The young laird entertained us very 
liberally; he is heir, perhaps, to three hundred square 
miles of land, which, at ten shillings an acre, would 
bring him ninety-six thousand pounds a year. He is 
desirous of improving the agriculture of his country: and, 
in imitation of the Czar, travelled for improvement, and 
worked with his own hands upon a farm in Hertford- 
shire, in the neighbourhood of your uncle Sir Thomas 
Salusbury. He talks of doing useful things, and has in- 
troduced turnips for winter fodder. He has made a small 
essay towards a road. 

Coll is but a barren place. Description has here few 
opportunities of spreading her colours. The difference 
of day and night is the only vicissitude. The succession 
of sunshine to rain, or of calms to tempests, we have not 
known; wind and rain have been our only weather. 

At last, after about nine days, we hired a sloop, and 
having lain in it all night, with such accommodations as 
these miserable vessels can afford, were landed yesterday 
on the isle of Mull: from which we expect an easy pas- 
sage into Scotland. I am sick in a ship, but recover by 
lying down. 

I have not good health; I do not find that travelling 
much helps me. My nights are flatulent, though not in 
the utmost degree; and I have a weakness in my knees^ 
■which makes me very unable to walk. 

Pray, dear Madam, let me have a long letter. I am, Wr. 



LETTERS. S35 



LETTER XXVL To Mrs. Thrale. 

Honoured Mistress, Inverary, Oct. 24, 1773, 

MY last letters to you and my clear master were writ- 
ten from Mull, the third island of the Hebrides in extent. 
There is no post, and I took the opportunity of a gentle- 
man's passage to the main land. 

In Mull we were confined two days by the weather: 
on the third we got on horseback, and after a journey 
difficult and tedious, over rocks naked and valleys un- 
tracked, through a country of barrenness and solitude, we 
came almost 'vl\ the dark, to the sea side, weary and de- 
jected, having met with nothing but water falling from 
the mountains that could raise any image of delight. 
Our company was the young Laird of Col and his ser- 
vant. Col made every Maclean open his house where he 
came, and supply us with horses when we departed; 
but the horses of this country are small, and I was not 
mounted to my wish. 

At the sea side we found the ferry-boat departed; if it 
had been where it was expected, the wind was against 
us, and the hour was late, nor was it very desirable to 
cross the sea in darkness with a small boat. The captain 
of a sloop that had been driven thither by the storms, 
saw our distress, and as we were hesitating and delibera- 
ting, sent his boat, which by Col's order, transported us 
to the isle of Ulva. We were introduced to Mr. Mac- 
quarry, the head of a small clan, whose ancestors have 
reigned in Ulva, beyond memory: but who has reduced 
himself, by his negligence and folly, to the necessity of 
selling this venerable patrimony. 

On the next morning we passed the strait to Inch Ken- 
neth<i an island about a mile in length, and less than half 
SI mile broad; in which Kenneth, a Scottish saint, estab- 



336 LETTERS. 

lished a small clerical college of which the chapel walls 
are still standing. At this place I beheld a scene which I 
wish you and my master and Queeney had partaken. 

The only family on the island is that of Sir Allan, the 
chief of the ancient and numerous clan of Maclean; the 
clan which claims the second place, yielding only to Mac- 
donaldinthe line of battle. Sir Allen, a chieftain, a baronet, 
and a soldier, inhabits in this insulated desert a thatched 
hut with no chambers. Young Col, who owns him as his 
chief, and whose cousin was his lady, had, I believe, gvien 
him some notice of our visit; he received us with the 
soldier's frankness and the gentleman's elegance, and 
introduced us to his daughters, two young ladies who 
have not wanted education suitable to their birth, and who, 
in their cottage, neither forgot their dignity, nor affected 
to remember it. Do not you wish to have been with us? 

Sir Allan's affairs are in disorder by the fault of his 
ancestors; and, while he foi'ms some scheme for retriev- 
ing them, he has retreated hither. 

When our salutations were over, he shewed us the 
island. We walked uncovered into the chapel, and saw 
in the reverend ruin the effects of precipitate reforma- 
tion. The floor is covered with ancient gravestones, of 
which the inscriptions are not now legible; and without, 
some of the chief families still continue the right of se- 
pulture. The altar is not yet quite demolished; beside it, 
on the right side, is a bass relief of the Virgin with her 
child and an angel hovering over her. On the other side 
still stands a handbell, which, though it has no clapper, 
neither Presbyterian bigotry nor barbarian wantonness 
has yet taken away. The chapel is thirty-eight feet long 
and eighteen broad. Boswell, who is very pious, went 
into it at night to perform his devotions: but came back 
in huste, for fear of spectres. Near the chapel is a fountain, 
to which the water, remarkably pure, is conveyed from a 
distant hill, through pipes laid by the Romish clergy, 



LETTERS. oSr 

which still perform the office of conveyance, though 
they have never been repaired since Popery was sup- 
pressed. 

We soon after went in to dinner, and wanted neither 
the comforts nor the elegancies of life. There were seve- 
ral dishes, and a variety of liquors. The servants live in 
another cottage; in which, I suppose, the meat is dressed. 

Towards evening, Sir Allan told us, that Sunday never 
passed over him like another day. One of the ladies 
read, and read very well, the evening service;— and Pa- 
radise was open in the wild. 

Next day, 18th, we went and wandered among the 
rocks on the shore, while the boat was busy catching 
oysters, of which there is a great bed. Oysters lie upon 
the sand, one I think sticking to another, and cockles 
are found a few inches under the sand. 

We then went in the boat to Sondiland, a little island 
very near. We found it a wild rock, of about ten acres; 
part naked, part covered with sand, out of which we 
picked shells; and part clothed with a thin layer of mould, 
on the grass of which a few sheep are sometimes fed. 
We then came back, and dined. I passed part of the af- 
ternoon in reading, and in the evening one of the ladies 
played on her harpsichord, and Boswell and Col danced 
a reel with the other. 

On the 1 9th, we persuaded Sir Allan to launch his boat 
again, and go with us to Icolmkill, where the first great 
preacher of Christianity to the Scots built a church, an<i 
settled a monastery. In our way we stopped to examine a 
very uncommon cave on the coast of MuiL We had some 
difficulty to make our way over the vast masses of broken 
rocks that lie before the entrance, and at the mouth 
were embarrassed with stones, which the sea had accu- 
mulated, as at Brighthelmstone; but as we advanced we 
reached a floor of soft sand, and as we left the light bf 

Vol. XII. P 



338 LETTERS. 

hind us, walked along a very spacious cavity, vaulted 
overhead with an arch almost regular, by which a moun- 
tain was sustained, at least a very lofty rock. From this 
magnificent cavern went a narrow passage to the right 
hand, which we entered with a candle; and though it was 
obstructed with great stones, clambered over them to a 
second expansion of the cave, in which there lies a great 
quare stone, which might serve as a table. The air here 
was very warm, but not oppressive, and the flame of the 
candle continued pyramidal. The cave goes onward to an 
unknown extent, but we were now one hundred and sixty 
yards under ground; we had but one candle, and had 
never heard of any that went further and came back; we 
therefore thought it prudent to return. 

Going forward in our boat, we came to a cluster of 
rocks, black and horrid, which Sir Allan chose for 
the place where he would eat his dinner. We climbed 
till we got seats. The stores were opened, and the repast 
taken. 

We then entered the boat again; the night came upon 
us; the wind rose; the sea swelled; and Boswell desired 
to be set on dry ground: we however pursued our navi- 
gation, and passed by several little islands in the silent 
solemnity of faint moonshine, seeing little, and hearing 
only the wind and the water. At last we reached the 
island; the venerable seal of ancient sanctity; where secret 
piety reposed, and where fallen greatness was reposited. 
The island has no house of entertainment, and we man- 
fully made our bed in a farmer's barn. The description I 
hope to give you another lime. I am, tP'c. 



LETTERS. 339 



- LETTER XXVII. To Mrs. Thrale. 

Dearest Madam, Edinburgh, Nov- 12, 1775. 

AMONG the possibilities of evil which my imagina 
tion suggested at this distance, I missed that which has 
really happened. I never had much hope of a will in your 
favour, but was willing to believe that no will would 
have been made. The event is now irrevocable, it re- 
mains only to bear it. Not to wish it had been different 
is impossible; but as the wish is painful and without use, 
it is not prudent, perhaps not lawful, to indulge it. As life, 
and vigour of mind, and sprightliness of imagination, 
and flexibility of attention, are given us for valuable and 
useful purposes, we must not think ourselves at liberty 
to squander life, to enervate intellectual strength, to 
cloud our thoughts, or fix our attention, when by all this 
expence we know that no good can be produced. Be 
alone as little as you can; when you are alone, do not 
suffer your thoughts to dwell on what you might have 
done to prevent this disappointment. You perhaps could 
not have done what you imagine, or might have done 
it without eifect. But even to think in the most reason 
able manner, is for the present not so useful as not to 
think. Remit yourself solemnly into the hands of God, 
and then turn your mind upon the business and amuse- 
ments which lie before you. " All is best,'* says Chene, 
" as it has been, excepting the errors of our own free 
will." Burton concludes his long book upon Melancholy 
with this important precept: " Be not solitary; be not 
idle." Remember Chene's position, and observe Burton's 
precept. 

We came hither on the ninth of this month. I long to 
come under your care, but for some (Hiys cannot decent- 
ly get away. They congratulate our return as if we had 



340 LETTERS. 

been with Phipps or Banks; I am ashamed of their salu- 
tations. 

I have been able to collect very little for Queeney's 
cabinet; but she will not want toys now she is so well 
employed. I wish her success; and am not without some 
thought of becoming her school-fellow. I have got an 
Italian Rasselas. 

Surely my dear Lucy will recover; I wish I could do 
her good. I love her very much; and should love ano- 
ther godchild, if I might have the honour of standing 
to the next baby. I am, ^c. 



LETTER XXVin. 7b Mrs. Thrale. 

My Dearest Mistress, Edinburgh, Nov. 18, lY7o* 

THIS is the last letter that I shall write; while you 
are reading it, I shall be coming home. 

I congratulate you upon your boy; but you must not 
think that I will love him all at once as well as I love 
Harry, for Harry you know is so rational. I shall love 
him by degrees. 

Poor, pretty, dear Lucy! Can nothing do her good? 
1 am sorry to lose her. But if she must be taken from 
us, let us resign her with confidence into the hands of 
Him who knows, and who only knows, what is best both 
for us and her. 

Do not suffer yourself to be dejected. Resolution and 
diligence will supply all that is wanting, and all that is 
lost. But if your health should be impaired, I know not 
where to find a substitute. I shall have no mistress; Mr. 
Thrale will have no wife; and the little flock will have 
xio mother. 

I long to be home, and have taken a place 'in the 
coach for Monday; I hope therefore to be in London on 



LETTERS. 341 

Friday the 26th, in the evening. Please to let Mrs. 
Williams know. I am, Ifc. 



LETTER XXIX. To the Same. 

Dear Madam, Lichfield, June 23, 1775. 

NOW I hope you are thinking, shall I have a letter 
to-day from Lichfield? Something of a letter you will 
have; how else can I expect that you should write? and 
the morning on which I should miss a letter would be a 
morning of uneasiness, notwithstanding all that would 
be said or done by the sisters of Stowhill, who do and 
say whatever good they can. They give me good words, 
and cherries, and strawberries. Lady **** and her mo- 
ther and sister were visiting there yesterday and Lady 
**** took her tea before her mother. 

Mrs. Cobb is to come to Miss Porter's this afternoon- 
Miss A comes little near me. Mr. Langly of Ash- 
bourne was here to-day, in his way to Birmingham; and 
every body talks of you. 

The ladies of the Amicable Society are to walk, in a 
few days, from the town-hall to the cathedral in proces- 
sion to hear a sermon. They walk in linen gowns, and 
each has a stick with an acorn; but for the acorn they 
could give no reason, till I told them of the civick 
crown. 

I have just had your sweet letter, and am glad that 
you are to be at the regatta. You know how Utile I love 
to have you left out of any shining part of life. You have 
every right to distinction, and should therefore be dis- 
tinguished. You will see a show with philosophick su- 
periority, and therefore may see it safely. It is easy to 
talk of sitting at home contented, when others are seeing 
or making shows. But not to have been where it is sup- 
posed, and seldom supposed falsely, that all would go if 



342 LETTERS. 

they could: to be able to say nothing when every one is 
talking; to have no opinion when every one is judging; 
to hear exclamations of rapture, without power to de- 
press; to listen to falsehoods without right to contradict, 
is, after all, a state of temporary inferiority, in which the 
mind is rather hardened by stubbornness, than support- 
ed by fortitude. If the world be worth winning, let us 
enjoy it; if it is to be despised, let us despise it by con- 
viction. But the world is not to be despised but as it is 
compared with something better. Company is in itself 
better than solitude, and pleasure better than indolence. 
Ex nihilo nihil Jit^ says the moral as well as the natural 
philosopher. By doing nothing and by knowing nothing 
no power of doing good can be obtained. He must min- 
gle with the world that desires to be useful. Every new 
scene impresses new ideas, enriches the imagination, 
enlarges the power of reason, by new topicks of compa- 
rison. You that have seen the regatta will have images 
which we who miss it must want, and no intellectual 
images are without use. But when you are in this scene 
of splendour and gaiety, do not let one of your fits of 
negligence steal upon you. Hoc age^ is the great rule, 
whether you are serious or merry; whether you are 
stating the expences of your family, learning science or 
duty from a folio, or floating on the Thames in a fancied 
dress. Of the whole entertainment let me not hear so 
copious nor so true an account from any body as from 
you. I am, dearest Madam, isfc. 



LETTER XXX. To Mrs. Thr alb. 

Deauest Madam, Ashbourne. 

I AM sure I write and write, and every letter that 
comes from you charges me with not writing. Since I 
wrote to Queeney I have written twice to you, on the 6th 



LETTERS. 343 

and the 9th; be pleased to let me know whether you 
have them or have them not. That of the 6th you should 
regularly have had on the 8th, yet your letter of the 9th 
seems not to mention it; all this puzzles me. 

Poor dear *»*•! He only grows dull because he is 
sickly; age has not yet begun to impair him; nor is he 
such a chameleon as to take immediately the colour of 
his company. When you see him again, you will find 
him re-animated. Most men have their bright and their 
cloudy days; at least they have days when they put 
their powers into action, and days when they suffer them 
to repose. 

Fourteen thousand pounds make a sum sufiicient for 
the establishment of a family, and which, in whatever 
flow of riches or confidence of prosperity, deserves to be 
very seriously considered. I hope a great part of it has 
paid debts, and no small part bought land. As for gravel- 
ling and walling and digging, though I am not much 
delighted with them, yet something, indeed much, must 
be allowed to every man's taste. He that is growing rich 
has a right to enjoy part of the growth his own way. I 
hope to range in the walk, and row upon the water, and 
devour fruit from the wall. 

Dr. Taylor wants to be gardening. He means to buy a 
piece of ground in the neighbourhood, and surround it 
with a wall, and build a gardener's house upon it, and 
have fruit, and be happy. Much happiness it will not 
bring him; but what can he do better? If I had money 
enough, what would I do? Perhaps, if you and master 
did not hold me, I might go to Cairo, and down the Red 
Sea to Bengal, and take a ramble in India. Would this 
be better than building and planting? It would surely give 
more variety to the eye and more amplitude to the mind. 
Half fourteen thousand would send me out to see other 
forms of existence, and bring me back to describe them. 



M4 LETTERS. 

I answer this the clay on which I had yours of the 9th, 
that is on the 1 1th. Let me know when it comes. I am, 



LETTER XXXL To Mrs. Thrale. 

Madam, Lichfield, Aug. 2, 1775. 

I DINED to-day at Stowhill, and am come away to 
write my letter. Never surely was I such a writer before. 
Do you keep my letters? I am not of your opinion, that 
I shall not like to read them hereafter; for though there 
is in them not much history of mind, or any thing else, 
they will, I hope, always be in some degree the records 
of a pure and blameless friendship, and in some hours 
of languor and sadness may revive the memory of more 
cheerful times. 

Why you should suppose yourself not desirous here- 
after to read the history of your own mind, I do not see. 
Twelve years, on which you now look as on a vast ex- 
panse of life, will probably be passed over uniformly 
and smoothly, with very little perception of your pro- 
gress, and with very few remarks upon the way. The 
accumulation of knowledge which you promise to your- 
self, by which the future is to lookback upon the present 
with the superiority of manhood to infancy, will perhaps 
never be attempted, or never will be made; and you will 
find, as millions have found before you, that forty-five 
lias made littte sensible addition to thirty-three. 

" As the body after a certain time gains no increase of 
height, and little of strength, there is likewise a period, 
though more variable by external causes, when the mind 
commonly attains its stationary point, and very little ad- 
vances its powers of reflection, judgment, and ratiocina- 
tion. The body may acqui^re new modes of motion, or new 
dexterities of mechanick operations; but its original 



LETTERS. 345 

strength receives not improvement; the mind may be 
stored with new languages, or new sciences, but its 
power of thinking remains nearly the same, and unless 
it attains new subjects of meditation, it commonly pro- 
duces thoughts of the same force and the game extent, 
at very distant intervals of life, as the tree, unless a 
foreign fruit be ingrafted, gives year after year produc- 
tions of the same form and the same flavour. 

By intellectual force or strength of thought is meant 
the degree of power which the mind possesses of sur- 
veying the subject of meditation, with its circuit of con- 
comitants, and its train of dependence. 

Of this power, which all observe to be very different 
in different minds, part seems the gift of nature, and part 
the acquisition of experience. When the powers of na- 
ture have attained their intended energy they can be no 
more advanced. The shrub can never become a tree. 
And it is not unreasonable to suppose that they are be- 
fore the middle of life in their full vigour. 

Nothing then remains but practice and experience; 
and perhaps why they do so little may be worth enquiry. 

But I have just now looked, and find it so late, that I 
will enquire against the next post night. I am, is'c. 



LETTER XXXIL Trj Mrs, Thralk. 

Dear Madam, Lichfield, August 5, 1775. 

INSTEAD of forty reasons for my return, one is suf- 
ficient, — that you wish for my company. I purpose to 
write no more till you see me. The ladies at Stowhill 
and Greenhill are unanimously of opinion, that it will 
be best to take a postchaise, and not to be troubled with 
the vexations of a common carriage. I will venture to 
suppose the ladies at Streatham to be of the same mind. 

You will now expect to be told whv vou will not be 

P2 



346 LETTERS. 

so much wiser as you expect when you have lived 
twelve years longer. 

It is said and said truly, that experience is the best 
teacher; and it is supposed, that as life is lengthened ex- 
perience is increased. But a closer inspection of human 
life will discover that time often passes without any in- 
cident which can much enlarge knowledge or ratify 
judgment. When we are young we learn much, because 
we are universally ignorant; we observe every thing, be- 
cause every thing is new. But after some years, the oc- 
currences of daily life are exhausted; one day passes like 
another, in the same scene of appearances, in the same 
course of transactions. We have to do what we have 
often done, and what we do not try, because we do not 
wish, to do much better; we are told what we already 
jtnow,and therefore what repetition cannot make us know 
with greater certainty. 

He that has early learned much perhaps seldom makes, 
with regard to life and manners, much addition to his 
knowledge; not only because as more is known there is 
less to learn, but because a mind stored with images and 
principles turns inwards for its own entertainment, and 
is employed in settling those ideas which run into confu- 
sion, and in recollecting those which are stealing away; 
practices by which wisdom may be kept, but not gained. 
The merchant who was at first busy in acquiring money, 
ceases to grow richer from the time when he makes it 
his business only to count it. 

Those who have families or employments are engaged 
in business of little difficulty, but of great importance, 
requiring rather assiduity of practice than subtilty of 
speculation, occupying the attention with images too 
bulky for refinement, and too obvious for research. The 
right is already known; what remains is only to follow 
it Daily business adds no more to wisdom than daily 



LETTERS. 34ir 

lessons to the learning of the teacher. But of how few 
lives does not stated duty claim the greater part? 

Far the greater part of human minds never endeavour 
their own improvement. Opinions once received from in- 
struction, or settled by whatever accident, are seldom 
recalled to examination; having been once supposed to 
be right, they are never discovered to be erroneous, for 
no application is made of any thing that time may pre- 
sent, either to shake or to confirm them. From this ac- 
quiescence in preconceptions none are wholly free; be- 
tween fear of uncertaniny, and dislike of labour, every 
one rests while he might yet go forward; and they that 
were wise at thirty-three are very little wiser at forty-five. 

Of this speculation you are perhaps tired, and would 
rather here of Sophy. I hope before this comes that her 
head will be easier, and your head less filled with fears 
and troubles, which you know are to be indulged only to 
prevent evil, not to encrease it. 

Your uneasiness about Sophy is probably unnecessary; 
and at worst your own children are healthful, and your 
affairs prosperous. Unmingled good cannot be expected; 
but as we may lawfully gather all the good within our 
reach, we may be allowed to lament after that which we 
lose. I hope your losses are at an end, and that as far as 
the condition of our present existence permits, your re- 
maining life will be happy. I am, is'c. 



LETTER XXXIII. To Mrs. Thrale. 

Dear Madam, Lichfield, March 25, 17T6. 

THIS letter will not, I hope, reach you many days be- 
fore me; in a distress which can be so little relieved 
nothing remains for a friend but to come and partake it. 

Poor dear sweet little boy! When I read the letter 
this day to Mrs. Aston, she said, <« Such a death is the 



548 LETTERS. 

next to translation.'* Yet however I may convince myself 
of this, the tears are in my eyes; and yet I could not love 
him as you loved him, nor reckon upon him for a future 
comfort as you and his father reckoned upon him. 

He is gone, and we are going! We could not have en- 
joyed him long, and shall not long be separated from 
him. He has probably escaped many such pangs as you 
are now feeling. 

Nothing remains, but that with humble confidence we 
resign ourselves to Almighty goodness, and fall down, 
without irreverent murmurs, before the Sovereign Dis- 
tributer of good and evil, with hope that though sorrow 
endureth for a night yet joy may come in the morning. 
I have known you, Madam, too long to think that you 
want any arguments for submission to the Supreme Will; 
nor can my consolation have any effect but that of shew- 
ing that I wish to comfort you. What can be done you 
must do for yourself. Remember first, that your child is 
happy; and then, that he is safe, not only from the ills of 
this world, but those more formidable dangers which ex- 
tend their mischief to eternity. You have brought into 
the world a rational being; have seen him happy during 
the little life that has been granted him; and can have 
no doubt but that his happiness is now permanent and 
immutable. 

When you have obtained by prayer such tranquillity 
as nature will admit, force your attention, as you can, 
upon your accustomed duties and accustomed entertain- 
ments. You can do no more for our dear boy; but you 
must not therefore think lesson those whom your atten- 
tion may make fitter for the place to which he is gone. 
I am, dearest, dearest Madam, your most affectionate 
bumble servant. 



LETTERS. 549 



LETTER XXXIV. To Mrs, tnRALE. 

Dearest Lady, Sept. 6, 1777. 

IT is true that I have loitered, and, what is worse, loi- 
tered with very little pleasure. The time has run away, 
as most time runs, without account, without use, with- 
out memorial. But to say this of a few weeks, though not 
pleasing, might be borne; but what ought to be the regret 
of him who in a few days, will have so nearly the same 
to say of sixty-eight years? But complaint is vain. 

If you have nothing to say from the neighbourhood of 
the metropolis, what can occur to me in little cities and 
petty towns; in places which we have both seen, and of 
which no description is wanted? I have left part of the 
company with which you dined here, to come and write 
this letter; in which I have nothing to tell, but that my 
nights are very tedious. I cannot persuade myself to 
forbear trying something. 

As you have now little to do, I suppose you are pretty 
diligent at the Thralina; and a very curious collection 
posterity will find it. Do not remit the practice of writ- 
ing down occurrences as they arise, of whatever kind, 
and be very punctual in annexing the dates. Chronology, 
you know, is the eye of history; and every man's life is 
of importance to himself. Do not omit painful casualties, 
or unpleasing passages, they make the variegation of 
existence; and there are many transactions, of which I 
will not promise with .^Eneas, et hac olim maniniane juva' 
hit. Yet that remembrance which is not pleasant may be 
useful. There is however an intemperate attention to 
slight circumstances which is to be avoided, lest a great 
part of life be spent in writing the history of the rest. 
Every day perhaps has something to be noted, but in a 
settled and uniform course few days can have much. 



350 LETTERS. 

Why do I write all this, which I had no thought of 
when I begun? The Thraliana drove it all into my head. 
It deserves however an hour's reflection, to consider how, 
with the least loss of time, the loss of what we wish to 
retain may be prevented. 

Do not neglect to write to me, for when a post comes 
empty I am really disappointed. 

Boswell, I believe, will meet me here, I am, dearest 
Lady, your, ^c. 



LETTER XXXV. To Mrs, Thrale. 

Dear Madam, Lichfield, October 3, 1777. 

THIS is the last time that I shall write, in this excur- 
sion, from this place. To-morrow I shall be, I hope, at 
Birmingham; from which place I shall do my best to 
find the nearest way home. I come home, I think, worse 
than I went; and do not like the state of my health. But, 
vive hodiej make the most of life. I hope to get better, 
and — sweep the cobwebs. But I have sad nights. Mrs. 
Ashton has sent me to Mr. Greene to be cured. 

Did you see Foote at Brighthelmstone? — Did you 
think he would so soon be gone? — Life, says Falstaflf, is 
a shuttle. He was a fine fellow in his way; and the world 
is really impoverished by his sinking glories. Murphy 
ought to write his life, at least to give the world a Foote- 
iana. Now, will any of his contemporaries bewail him? 
Will genius change his sex to weep? I would really have 
his life written with diligence. 

It will be proper for me to work pretty diligently now 
for some time. I hope to get through, though so many 
weeks have passed. Little lives and little criticisms may 
serve. 

Having been in the country so long, with very little 
to detain me, I am rather glad to look homewards. I 
am, ^f. 



LETTERS. ^ 351 



LETTER XXXVL To Mrs. Thrale. 

Dear Madam, October 13, 1777. 

YET I do love to hear from you. Such pretty kind 
letters as you send. But it gives me great delight to find 
that my master misses me. I begin to wish myself with 
you more than I should do if I were wanted less. It is 
a good thing to stay away till one's company is desired, 
but not so good to stay after it is desired. 

You know I have some work to do. I did not set to it 
very soon; and if I should go up to London with nothing 

done, what would be said, but that I was who can 

tell what? I therefore stay till I can bring up something 
to stop their mouths, and then 

Though I am still at Ashbourne, I receive your dear 
letters that come to Lichfield, and^ you continue that 
direction, for I think to get thither as soon as I can. 

One of the does died yesterday, and I am afraid her 
fawn will be starved; I wish Miss Thrale had it to nurse; 
but the doctor is now all for cattle, and minds very little 
either does or hens. 

How did you and your aunt part? Did you turn her 
out of doors to begin your journey? or did she leave you 
by her usual shortness of visits? I love to know how you 
go on. 

I cannot but think on your kindness and my master's. 
Life has, upon the whole, fallen short, very short, of 
my early expectation; but the acquisition of such a friend- 
ship, at an age when new friendships are seldom acquir- 
ed, is something better than the general course of things 
gives man a right to expect. I think on it with great de- 
light; I am not very apt to be delighted. I am, ^c. 



352 LETTERS. 



LETTER XXXVn. To the same. 

Dear Madam, Lichfield, October 27, 1777. 

YOU talk of writing and writing, as if you had all the 
writing to yourself. If our correspondence were printed, 
I am sure posterity, for posterity is always the author's 
favourite, would say that I am a good writer too. — yJii- 
chHo sono.idttQve, To sit down so often, with nothing to 
say; to say something so often, almost without consci- 
ousness of saying, and without any remembrance of hav- 
ing said, is a power of which I will not violate my mo- 
desty by boasting; but I do not believe that every body 
has it. 

Some, when they write to their friends, are all affec- 
tion; some are wise and sententious; some strain their 
powers for efforts of gaiety; some write news, and some 
write secrets; but to make a letter without affection, with- 
out wisdom, without gaiety, without news, and without a 
secret, is, doubtless, the great epistolick art. 

In a man's letters, you know, madam, his soul lies na- 
ked; his letters are only the mirror of his breast; what- 
ever passes within him is shewn undisguised in its natural 
process; nothing is inverted, nothing distorted; you see 
systems in their elements; you discover actions in their 
motives. 

Of this great truth, sounded by the knowing to the ig- 
norant, and so, echoed by the ignorant to the knowing, 
what evidence have you now before you? Is not my soul 
laid open in these veracious pages? Do not you see me 
reduced to my first principles? this is the pleasure of cor- 
responding with a friend, where doubt and distrust have 
no place, and every thing is said as it is thought. The 
original idea is laid down in its simple purity, and all the 
supervenient conceptions are spread over it, stratum su' 



LETTERS. 353 

tier stratum^ as they happen to be formed. These are the 
letters by which souls are united, and by which minds 
naturally in unison, move each other as they are moved 
themselves. I know, dearest lady, that in the perusal of 
this, such is the consanguinity of our intellects, you will 
be touched as I am touched. I have indeed concealed 
nothing from you, nor do I expect ever to repent of hav- 
ing thus opened my heart. I am, Sec. 



LETTER XXXVIII. To the same. 

Dear Madam, November 10, VfTT. 

AND so, supposing that I might come to town and ne- 
glect to give you notice, or thinking some other strange 
thought, but certainly thinking wrong, you fall to writing 
about me to Tom Davies, as if he could tell you any thing 
that I would not have you know. As soon as I came hi- 
ther I let you know of my arrival; and the consequence 
is, that I am summoned to Brighthelm stone through 
storms, and cold, and dirt, and all the hardships of win- 
try journeys. You know my natural dread of all those 
evils: yet to shew my master an example of compliance, 
and to let you know how much I long to see you, and to 
boast how little I give way to disease, my purpose is to 
be with you on Friday. 

I am sorry for poor Nezzy, and hope she will in time 
be better; I hope the same for myself. The rejuvenes- 
cency of Mr. Scrase gives us both reason to hope, and 
therefore both of us rejoice at his recovery. I wish him 
well besides as a friend to my master. 

I am just come home from not seeing my Lord Mayor's 
show, but I might have seen at least part of it. But I saw 
Miss Wesley and her brothers; she sends her compli- 
ments. Mrs. Williams is come home. I think a very lit- 
tle better. 



354 LETTERS. 



X 



Every body was an enemy to that wig We will burn 

it, and get drunk; for what is joy without drink. Wagers 
are laid in the city about our success, which is yet, as 
the French call it, problematical. Well, but seriously I 
think I shall be glad to see you in your own hair; but do 
not take too much time in combing, and twisting, and 
papering, and unpapering, and curling, and frizzing, and 
powdering, and getting out the powder, with all the other 
operations required in the cultivation of a head of hair; 
yet let it be combed at least once in three months, on the 
quarter-day. — I could wish it might be combed once at 
least in six weeks; if I were to indulge my wishes, but 
what are wishes without hopes, I should fancy the ope- 
ration performed— one knows not when one has enough 
■—perhaps every morning. I am, dearest Lady, your, Sec. 



LETTER XXXIX. To Mrs. Thrale. 

Dear Madam, Ashbourne, June 14, 1779. 

^ YOUR account of Mr. Thrale's illness is very terri- 
ble; but when I remember that he seems to have it pecu- 
liar to his constitution, that whatever distemper he has, 
he always has his head affected, I am less frighted. The 
seizure was, I think, not apoplectical, but hysterical, and 
therefore not dangerous to life. I would have you how- 
ever consult such physicians as you think you can^ best 
trust. Broomficld seems to have done well, and by his 
practice appears not to suspect an apoplexy. This is a 
solid and fundamental comfort. I remember Dr. Mar- 
sigli, an Italian physician, whose seizure was more vio- 
lent than Mr. Thrale*s, for he fell down helpless, but his 
case was not considered as of much danger, and he went 
safe home, and is now a professor at Padua. His fit was 
considered as only hysterical. 

I hope Sir Philip, who franked your letter, comforts 



LETTERS. S55 

you as well as Mr. Seward. If I can comfort you, I will 
come to you; but I hope you are now no longer in want 
of any -help to be happy. I am, &c. 

The Doctor sends his compliments; he is one of the 
people that are growing old. 



LETTER XL. 7'o Mrs. Thrale. 

Dear Madam» Ashbourne, June 14, 1779- 

HOW near we are all to extreme danger. We are 
merry or sad, or busy or idle, and forget that death is 
hovering over us. You are a dear Lady for writing again. 
The case, as you now describe it, is worse than I con- 
ceived it, when I read your first letter. It is still however 
not apoplectick, but seems to have something worse than 
hysterical, a tendency to a palsy, which I hope however 
is now over. I am glad that you have Heberden, and 
hope we are all safer. I am the more alarmed by this vi- 
olent seizure, as I can impute it to no wrong practices, 
or intemperance of any kind, and therefore know not how 
any defence or preservative can be obtained. Mr. Thrale 
has certainly less exercise than when he followed the 
foxes, but he is very far from unwieldiness or inactivity, 
and further still from any vicious or dangerous excess.' 
I fancy, however, he will do well to ride more. 

Do, dear Madam, let me know every post how he 
goes on. Such sudden violence is very dreadful; we 
know not by what it is let loose upon us, nor by what its 
effects are limited. 

If my coming can either assist or divert, or be useful 
to any purpose, let me but know. I will soon be with you. 

Mrs. Kennedy, Queeney's Baucis, ended last week a 
long life of disease and poverty. She had been married 
about fifty years. 

Dr. Taylor is not much amiss, but always complain- 
ing. I am, &c. 



3S6 LETTERS. 



LETTER XLL To Mr. Thrale. 

Dear Sin, Liclifield, Jane 23, 1779. 

TO shew how well I think of your health, I have sent 
you a hundred pounds to keep for me. It will come with- 
in one day of quarter day, and that day you must give me. 
I came by it in a very uncommon manner, and would not 
confound it with the rest. 

My wicked mistress talks as if she thought it possible 
for me to be indifferent or negligent about your health 
or hers. If I could have done any good, I had not delayed 
an hour to come to you, and I will come very soon to try 
if my advice can be of any use, or my company of any 
entertainment. 

What can be done, you must do for yourself; do not 
let any uneasy thought settle in your mind. Cheerfulness 
and exercise are your great remedies. Nothing is for the 
present worth your anxiety. Vivite iati is one of the great 
rules of health. I believe it will be good to ride often but 
never to weariness, for weariness is itself a temporary 
resolution of the nerves, and is therefore to be avoided. 
Labour is exercise continued to fatigue; exercise is labour 
used only while it produces pleasure. 

Above all, keep your mind quiet; do not think with 
earnestness even of your health; but think on such things 
as may please without too much agitation; among which 
I hope is, dear Sir, your. Sec. 



LETTER XLII. To Mrs, Thrale. 

Dear Madam, 

ON Sunday I dined with poor Lawrence, who is deafer 
than ever. When he was told that Dr, Moisy visited Mr 



LETTERS, 357 

Thrale, he enquired for what? and said there was nothing 
to be done which Nature would not do for herself. On 
Sunday evening I was at Mrs. Vesy's, and there was en- 
quiry about my master, but I told them all good. There 
was Dr. Bernard of Eton, and we made a noise all the 
evening; and there was Pepys, and Wraxal till I drove 
him away. And I have no loss of my mistress, who 
laughs, and frisks, and frolicks it all the long day, and 
never thinks of poor Colin. 

If Mr. Thrale will but continue to mend, we shall, I 
hope, come together again, and do as good things as ever 
we did; but perhaps you will be made too proud to heed 
me, and yet as I have often told you, it will not be easy 
for you to find such another. 

Queeney has been a good girl, and wrote me a letter^ 
if Burney said she would write, she told you a fib. She 
writes nothing to me. She can write home fast enough. 
I have a good mind not to let her know, that Dr. Ber- 
nard, to whom I had recommended her novel, speaks of 
it with great commendation, and that the copy which she 
lent me has been read by Dr. Lawrence three times over. 
And yet what a gypsy it is. She no more minds me than 
if I were a Brangton. Pray speak to Queeney to write 
again. 

I have had a cold and a cough, and taken opium, and 
think I am better. We have had very cold weather; bad 
riding weather for my master, but he will surmount it 
all. Did Mrs. Browne make any reply to your compari- 
son of business with solitude, or did you quite down her? 
I am much pleased to think that Mrs. Cotton thinks me 
worth a frame, and a plac-e upon her wall; her kindness 
was, hardly within my hope; but time does wonderful 
things. All my fear is, that if I should come again, my 
print would be taken down. I fear I shall never hold it. 

Who dines with you? Do you see Dr. Woodward or 
Dr. Harrington? do you go to the house where they write 



353 LETTERS. 

for the myrtle? You are at all places of high resort, and 
bring home hearts by dozens; while I am seeking for 
something to say about men of whom I know nothing but 
their verses, and sometimes very little of them. Now I 
have begun, however, I do not despair of making an end. 
Mr. Nichols holds that Addison is the most taking of all 
that I have done. I doubt they will not be done before 
you come away. 

Now you think yourself the first writer in the world 
for a letter about nothing. Can you write such a letter as 
this? So miscellaneous with such noble disdain of regula- 
rity; like Shakspeare's works, such graceful negligence 
of transition, like the ancient enthusiasts? The pure voice 
of nature and of friendship. Now of whom shall I pro- 
ceed to speak? Of whom but Mrs. Montague? Having 
mentioned Shakspeare and Nature, does not the name of 
Montague force itself upon me? Such were the transitions 
of the ancients, which now seem abrupt, because the in- 
termediate idea is lost to modern understandings. I wish 
her name had connected itself with friendship; but, ah 
Colin, thy hopes are in vain! One thing however is left 
me, I have still to complain; but I hope I shall not com- 
plain much while you have any kindness for me. I amj 
dearest and dearest madam, your, 8cc. 
London, April 11, 1780. 



LETTER XLin. To Mrs. Thrale. 

Deakest Madam, 

MR. Thrale never will live^'^bstinently till he can per- 
suade himself to abstain by rule. I lived on potatoes on 
Friday, and on spinach to-day; but I have had, I am afraid, 
too many dinners of late. I took physick too both days, 
and hope to fast to-morrow. When he comes home we 
tvill shame him, and Jcbb shall scold him into regularitv. 



LETTERS. 359 

I am glad, however, that he is always one of the com- 
pany, and that my dear Queeney, is again another. En- 
courage as you can the musical girl. 

Nothing is more common than mutual dislike where 
mutual approbation is particularly expected. There is 
often on both sides a vigilance not over benevolent; and 
as attention is strongly excited, so that nothing drops un- 
heeded, any difference in taste or opinion, and some dif- 
ference where there is no restraint will commonly ap- 
pear, it immediately generates dislike. 

Never let criticisms operate upon your face or your 
mind; it is very rarely that an author is hurt by his cri- 
ticks. The blaze of reputation cannot be blown out, but 
it often dies in the socket; a very few names may be con- 
sidered as perpetual lamps that shine unconsumed. From 
the author of Fitzorborne's Letters 1 cannot think myself 
in much danger. I met him only once about thirty years 
ago, and in some small dispute reduced him to whistle; 
having not seen him since, that is the last impression. 
Poor Moore the Fabulist was one of the company. 

Mrs. Montague's long stay against her own inclination 
is very convenient. You would, by your own confession, 
want a companion; and she is fiar filuribusy conversing 
with her you may ^nd variety in one. 

At Mrs. Ord's I met one Mrs. B , a travelled 

lady, of great spirit, and some consciousness of her own 
abilities. We had a contest of gallantry an hour long, so 
inuch to the diversion of the company, that at Ramsay's 
last night, in a crowded room, they would have pitted us 
again. There were Smelt, and the Bishop of St. Asaph, 
who comes to every place; and Lord Monboddo, and Sir 
Joshua, and ladies out of tale. 

The Exhibition, how will you do, either to see or not 
to seel The Exhibition is eminently splendid. There is 
contour, and keeping, and grace, and expression, and all 
• he varieties of artificial extellence. The apartments 



Seo LETTERS. 

were truly very noble. The pictures, for the sake of a 
sky-light, are at the top of the house; there we dinedy 
and I sat over against the Archbishop of York. See how I 
live when I am not under petticoat government. I am, ^c. 

London, May 1, 1780. 



LETTER XLIV. To Mrs. Thrale. 

Dear Madam, London June 9, 1780. 

TO the question, Who was impressed with conster- 
nation? it may with great truth be answered, that every 
body was impressed, for no body was sure of his safety. 

On Friday the good Protestants met in St. George's 
Fields, at the summons of Lord George Gordon, and 
inarching to Westminster, insulted the Lords and Com- 
mons, who all bore it with great tameness. At night the 
outrages began by the demolition of the mass-house by 
Lincoln's Inn. 

An exact journal of a week's defiance of government 
I cannot give you. On Monday, Mr. Strahan, who had 
been insulted, spoke to Lord Mansfield, who had I think 
been insulted too, of the licentiousness of the populacej 
and his Lordship treated it as a very slight irregularity. 
On Tuesday night they pulled down Fielding's house, 
and burnt his goods in the street. They had gutted on 
Monday Sir George Savile's house, but the building was 
saved. On Tuesday evening, leaving Fielding's ruins, 
they went to Newgate to demand their companions who 
had been seized demolishing the chapel. The keeper 
could not release them but by the Mayor's permission, 
which he went to ask; at his return he found all the pri- 
soners released, and Newgate in a blaze. They then went 
to Bloomsbury, and fastened upon Lord Mansfield's 
house, which they pulled down; and as for his goods, 
they totally burnt them. They have since gone to Caen- 



LETTERS. 361 

wood, but a guard was there before them. They plun- 
dered some Papists, I thhik, and burnt a mass-house in 
Moorfields the same night. 

On Wednesday I walked with Dr. Scot to look at New- 
gate, and found it in ruins with the fire yet glowing. As 
I went by, the Protestants were plundering the Sessions- 
house at the Old-Bailey. There were not, I believe, a 
hundred; but they did their work at leisure, in full secu- 
rity, without sentinels, without trepidation, as men law- 
fully employed, in full day. Such is the cowardice of a 
commercial place. On Wednesday they broke open the 
Fleet, and the King's-Bench, and the Marshalsea, and 
Wood-street Compter, and Clerkenwell Bridewell, and 
released all the prisoners. 

At night they set fire to the Fleet, and to the King*s- 
Bench, and I know not how many other places; and one 
might see the glare of the conflagration fill the sky from 
many parts. The sight was dreadful. Some people were 
threatened; Mr. Strahan advised me to take care of my- 
self. Such a time of terror you have been happy in not 
seeing. 

The King said in council, that the magistrates had not 
done their duty, but that he would do his own; and a pro- 
clamation was published, directing us to keep our ser- 
vants within doors, as the peace was now to be preserved 
by force. The soldiers were sent out to different parts, 
and the town is now at quiet. 

What has happened at your house you will know, the 
harm is only a few butts of beer; and I think you may be 
sure that the danger is over. There is a body of soldiers 
at St. Margaret's Hill. 

Of Mr. Tyson I know nothing, nor can guess to what 

he can allude; but I know that a young fellow of little 

more than seventy is naturally an unresisted conqueror 

of hearts. 

Pray tell Mr. Thralc that I live here and have no fruit, 
Vol. X'II. Q 



362 LETTERS. 

and if he does not interpose am not likely to have much; 
but I think he might as well give me a little as give all 
to the gardener. 

Pray make my compliments to Queeney and Burney. 
I am, ^c. 



LETTER XLV. To Mrs. Thrale. 

Dear Madam, June 10, 1/80. 

YOU have ere now heard and read enough to convince 
you, that we have had something to suffer, and some- 
thing to fear, and therefore I think it necessary to quiet 
the solicitude which you undoubtedly feel, by telling you 
that our calamities and terrors are now at an end. The 
soldiers are stationed so as to be every where within call; 
there is no longer any body of rioters, and the individuals 
are hunted to their holes, and led to prison; the streets 
are safe and quiet: Lord George was last night sent to 
the Tower. Mr. John Wilkes was this day with a party 
of soldiers in my neighbourhood, to seize the publisher 
of a seditious paper. Every body walks, and eats, and 
sleeps in security. But the history of the last week would 
fill you with amazement; it is without any modern ex- 
ample. 

Several chapels have been destroyed, and several inof- 
fensive Papists have been plundered, but the high sport 
was to burn the jails. This was a good rabble trick. The 
debtors and the criminals were all set at liberty; but of 
the criminals, as has always happened, many are already 
retaken, and two pirates have surrendered themselvesi 
and it is expected that they will be pardoned. 

Government now acts again with its proper force; and 
we are all again under the protection of the King and 
the law. I thought that it would be agreeable to you and- 
my master to have my testimony to the public security; 



LETTERS. 363 

and that you would sleep more quietly when I told you 
that you are safe. I am dearest Lady, your, ^c. 



LETTER XLVL To the Same. 

Dearest Madam, London, Aprils, l/Sl. 

OF your injunctions, to pray for you and write to you, 
I hope to leave neither unobserved; and I hope to find 
you willing in a short time to alleviate your trouble by 
some other exercise of the mind. I am not without my 
part of the calamity. No death since that of my wife has 
ever oppressed me like this. But let us remember, that 
we are in the hands of Him who knows when to give and 
when to take away; who will look upon us with mercy 
through all our variations of existence, and who invites 
us to call on him in the day of trouble. Call upon him in 
this great revolution of life, and call with confidence. You 
will then find comfort for the past, and support for the 
future. He that has given you happiness in marriage, to 
a degree of which, without personal knowledge, I should 
have thought the description fabulous, can give you ano- 
ther mode of happiness, as a mother; and at last the hap- 
piness of losing all temporal cares in the thoughts of an 
eternity in Heaven. 

I do not exhort you to reason yourself into tranquillity^. 
We must first pray, and then labour; first implore the 
blessing of God, and use those means which he puts into 
our hands. Cultivated ground has few weeds; a mind oc- 
cupied by lawful business has little room for useless re 
gret. 

We read the will to-day; but I will not fill my first 
letter with any other account than that, with all my zeal 
for your advantage, I am satisfied: and that the other ex- 
ecutors, more used to consider property than I, com- 
mended it for wisdom and equity. Yet why should T nn' 



364 LETTERS. 

tell you that you have five hundred pounds for your im- 
mediate expences, and two thousand pounds ^-year, with 
both the houses, and all the goods. 

Let us pray for one another, that the time, whether 
long or short, that shall yet be granted us, may be well 
spentj and that when this life, which at the longest is very 
short, shall come to an end, a better may begin which 
5hall never end. I am, dearest Madam, your, ^c. 



LETTER XLVIL To Mrs. Thrale. 

Dear Madam, April 7, 1781. 

I HOPE you begin to find your mind grow clearer. 
My part of the loss hangs upon me. I have lost a friend 
of boundless kindness at an age when it is very unlikely 
that I should find another. 

If you think change of place likely to relieve you, there 
is no reason why you should not go to Bath; the distances 
are unequal, but with regard to practice and business 
they are the same. It is a day*s journey from either 
place; and the post is more expeditious and certain to 
Bath. Consult only your own inclination, for there is 
really no other principle of choice. God direct and bless 
you. 

Mr. C has offered Mr. P money, but it 

was not wanted. I hope we shall all do all we can to make 
you less unhappy, and you must do all that you can for 
yourself. What we, or what you can do, will for a time 
be but little; yet certainly that calamity which may be 
considered as doomed to fall inevitably on half mankind, 
IS not finally without alleviation. 

It is something for me, that as I have not the decrepi- 
tude I have not the callousness of old age. I hope in time 
to be less affiicted. I am, iP'c, 



LETTERS. 365 



LETTER XLVIIL To Mrs. Thrale. 

Dear Madam, London, April 9, 1781. 

THAT you are gradually recovering your tranquillity 
is the effect to be humbly expected from trust in God. 
Do not represent life as darker than it is. Your loss has 
been very great, but you retain more than almost any 
other can hope to possess. You are high in the opinion 
of mankind; you have children from whom much plea- 
sure may be expected; and that you will find many 
friends you have no reason to doubt. Of my friendship, 
be it worth more or less, I Jiope you think yourself cer- 
tain, without much art or care. It will not be easy for me 
to repay the benefits that I have received; but I hope to 
be always ready at your call. Our sorrow has difierent 
effects; you are withdrawn in solitude, and I am driven 
into company. 1 am afraid of thinking on what I have lost. 
I never had such a friend before. Let m.e have your 
prayers and those of my dear Queeney. 

The prudence and resolution of your design to return 
so soon to your business and your duty deserves great 
praise; I shall communicate it on Wednesday to the other 
executors. Be pleased to let me know whether you would 
have me come to Streatham to receive you, or stay here 
till the next day. I am, ^c. 



LETTER XLIX. To the Same. 

Dear Madam, Bolt-court, Fleet-street, June 19, 1783. 

I AM sitting down in no cheerful solitude to write 
a narrative which would once have affected you with ten- 
derness and sorrow, but which you will perhaps pass 
over now with a careless glance of frigid indifference. 



366 LETTERS. 

For this diminution of regard, however, I know not whe- 
ther I ought to blame you, who may have reasons which 
I cannot know; and I do not blame myself, who have for 
a. great part of human life done you what good I could, 
and have never done you evil. 

I have been disordered in the usual way, and had been 
relieved by the usual methods, by opium and catharticks, 
Imt had rather lessened my dose of opium. 

On Monday tlie 1 6th I sat for my picture, and walked 
a considerable way with little inconvenience. In the after- 
noon and evening I felt myself light and easy, and began 
to plan schemes of life. Thus I went to bed, and in a 
short time waked and sat up, as has been long my cus- 
tom, when I felt a confusion and indislmctness in my 
head, which lasted I suppose about half a minute; I was 
alarmed, and prayed God, that however he might afflict 
my body, he would spare my understanding. This prayer, 
that I might try the integrity of my faculties, I made in 
Latin verse. The lines were not very good, but I knew 
them not to be very good: I made them easily, and con- 
eluded myself to be unimpaired in rny faculties. 

Soon after I perceived that I had suffered a paralytick 
stroke, and that my speech was taken from me. I had 
no pain, 'and so little dejection in this dreadful state, that 
I wondered at my own apathy, and considered that per- 
haps death itself, when it should come, would excite less 
horror than seems now to attend it. 

In order to arouse the vocal organs I took two drams. 
Wine has been celebrated for the production of elo- 
quence. I put myself into violent motion, and I think 
repeated it; but all was vain. I then went to bed, and 
strange as it may seem, I think, slept. When I saw 
light, it was time to contrive what I should do. Though 
God stopped my speech he left me my hand; I enjoyed 
a mercy which was not granted to my dear friend Law- 
rence, who now perhaps overlooks me as I am writing, 



LETTERS. 267 

and rejoices that 1 have what he wanted. My first note 
was necessarily to my servant, who came in talking, and 
could not immediately comprehend why he should read 
what I put into his hands. 

I then wrote a card to Mr. Allen, that I might have a 
discreet friend at hand to act as occasion should require. 
In penning this note I had some difficulty; my hand, I 
knew not how nor why, made wrong letters. I then wrote 
to Dr. Taylor to come to me, and bring Dr. Heberden, 
and I sent to Dr. Brocklesby, who is my neighbour. My 
physicians are very friendly and very disinterested, and 
give me great hopes, but you may imagine my situation. 
I have so far recovered my vocal powers as to repeat the 
Lord's Prayer with no very imperfect articulation. My 
memory, I hope, yet remains as it was: but such an attack 
produces solicitude for the safety of every faculty. 

How this will be received by you I know not. I hope 
you will sympathize with me; but perhaps 

My mistress gracious, mild, and good; 
Cries, •* Is he dumb?— *Tis time he shou'J!" 

But can this be possible? I hope it cannot. I hope tha' 
what, when I could speak, I spoke of you, and to you, 
will be in a sober and serious hour remembered by you; 
and surely it cannot be remembered but with some de- 
gree of kindness. I have loved you with virtuous affec- 
tion; I have honoured you with sincere esleeri>^ Let not 
all our endearments be forgotten, but let me have in this 
great distress your pity and your prayers. You see I yet 
turn to you with my complaints, as a settled and una- 
lienable friend; do not, do not drive me from you, for I 
have not deserved either neglect or hatred. 

To the girls, who do not write often, for Susy has writ- 
ten only once, and Miss Thrale owes me a letter, I ear- 
nestly recommend, as their guardian and friend, tliat they 
remember their Creator in the days of their youth. 



368 LETTERS. 

I suppose you may wish to know how my disease is 
treated by the physicians. They put a blister upon my 
back, and two from my ear to my throat, one on a side. 
The blister on the back has done little, and those on the 
throat have not risen. I bullied and bounced, (it sticks to 
our last sand,) and compelled the apothecary to make his 
salve according to the Edinburgh Dispensatory, that it 
might adhere better. I have two on now of my own pre- 
scription. They likewise give me salt of hartshorn, which 
f take with no great confidence; but I am satisfied that 
svhat can be done is done for me. 

God! give me comfort and confidence in Thee: for- 
give my sins; and, if it be thy good pleasure, relieve my 
diseases for Jesus Christ's sake. Amen. 

1 am almost ashamed of this querulous letter, but now 
U is written, let it go. I am, £^c. 



LETTER L. To Mrs. Thr ale. 

Dear Madam, 

AMONG those that have enquired after me, Sir Philip 
Is one; and Dr. Burney was one of those who came to see 
me. I have had no reason to complain of indifference or 
neglect. Dick Burney is come home five inches taller. 

Yesterday in the evening I went to church, and have 
been to-day to see the greatTburning glass, which does 
more than was ever done before by the transmission of 
the rays, but is not equal in power to those which reflect 
ihem. It wastes a diamond placed in the focus, but causes 
no diminution of pure gold. Of the rubies exposed to its 
action, one was made more vivid, the other paler. To 
see the glass, I climbed up stairs to the garret, and 
then up a ladder to the leads, and talked to the artist ra- 
ther too long; for my voiee, though clear and distinct for 
a little while, soon tires and falters. The organs of speech 



LETTERS. 369 

are yet very feeble, but will 1 hope be by the mercy of 
God finally restored: at present, like any other weak limb, 
they can endure but little labour at once. Would you not 
have been very sorry for me when I could scarcely speak? 

Fresh cantharides were this morning applied to my 
head, and are to be continued some time longer. If they 
play me no treacherous tricks they give me very little 
pain. 

Let me have your kindness and your prayers; and 
think on me as on a man, who, for a very great portion 
of your life, has done you all the good he could, and de- 
sires still to be considered, Madam, your, iJfc, 



LETTER LL To the Sairie, 

Dearest Madam, London, July 1, 1783. 

THIS morning I took the air by a ride to Hampstead, 
and this afternoon I dined with the club. But fresh can- 
tharides were this day applied to my head. 

Mr. Cator called on me to-day, and told me that he had 
invited you back to Streatham. I shewed the unfitness of 
your return thither, till the neighbourhood should have 
lost its habits of depredation, and seemed to be satisfied. 
He invited me very kindly and cordially to try the air of 
Beckenham, and pleased me very much by his affection- 
ate attention to Miss Vesy. There is much good in his 
character, and much usefulness in his knowledge. 

Queeney seems now to have forgotten me. Of the dif- 
ferent appearance of the hills and valleys an account 
may perhaps be given, without the supposition of any 
prodigy. If she had been out and the evening was 
breezy, the exhalations would rise from the low grounds 
very copiously; and the wind that swept and cleared the 
hills, would only by its cold condense the vapours of the 
sheltered valleys. 

Q2 



sro LETTERS. 

Murphy is just gone from me; he visits me very kind- 
ly, and I have no unkindness to complain of. 

I am sorry that Sir Philip's request was not treated 
with more respect, nor can I imagine what has put them 
so much out of humour; I hope their business is prosper- 
ous. 

I hope that I recover by degrees, but my nights are 
restless; and you will suppose the nervous system to be 
^?omewhat enfeebled. I am, Madam, your, life. 



LETTER LIL To the Same, 

London, October 9, 1783. 

TWO nights ago Mr. Burke sat with me along time; 
he seems much pleased with his journey. We had both 
seen Stonehenge this summer for the first time. I told 
him that the view had enabled me to confute two opin- 
ions which have been advanced about it. One that the 
materials are not natural stones, but an artificial compo- 
sition hardened by time. This notion is as old as Cam- 
den's time; and has this strong argument to support it, 
that stone of that species is no where to be found. The 
other opinion, advanced by Dr. Charlton, is, that it was 
erected by the Danes. 

Mr. Bowles made me observe, that the transverse 
stones were fixed on the perpendicular supporters by a 
knob formed on the top of the upright stone, which en- 
tered into a hollow cut in the crossing stone; This is a 
proof that the enormous edifice was raised by a people 
who had not yet the knowledge of mortar; which cannot 
be supposed of the Danes, who came hither in ships, 
and were not ignorant certainly of the arts of life. This 
proves likewise the stones not to be factitious; for they 
that could mould such durable masses could do much 



LETTERS. Sn 

more than make mortar, and could have continued the 
transverse from the upright part with the same paste. 

You have doubtless seen Stonehenge, and if you have 
not, I should think it a hard task to make an adequate 
description. 

It is, in my opinion, to be referred to the earliest habi- 
tation of the island, as a druidical monument of at least 
two thousand years; probably the most ancient work of 
man upon the island. Salisbury cathedral and its neigh- 
bour Stonehenge, are two eminent monvments of art 
and rudeness, and may shew the first essay, and the last 
perfection in architecture. 

I have not yet settled my thoughts about the genera- 
tion of light air, which I indeed once saw produced, but 
I was at the height of my great complaint. I have made 
enquiry, and shall soon be able to tell you how to fill a 
balloon. I am. Madam, your, ^c. 



LETTER Lin. 7b Mrs, Thrai.e. 

Dear Mada-m, London, Dec. 27, 1/83. 

THE wearisome solitude of the long evenings did 
indeed suggest to me the convenience of a club in my 
neighbourhood, but I have been hindered from attending 
it by want of breath. If I can complete the scheme, you 
shall have the names and the regulations. 

The time of the year, for I hope the fault is rather in 
the weather than in me, has been very hard upon mCc 
The muscles of my breast are much convulsed. Dr. He- 
berden recommends opiates, of which I have such horror 
that I do not think of them but in extremis. I was how- 
ever driven to them last night for refuge, and having 
taken the usual quantity, durst not go to bed, for fear of 
that uneasiness to which a supine posture exposes nic,. 



' 372 LETTERS. 

but rested all night in a chair with much relief, and have 
been to day more warm, active, and cheerful. 

You have more than once wondered at my complaint 
of solitude, when you hear that I am crowded with visits. 
Inofiem me cofiia fecit. Visitors are no proper compan- 
ions in the chamber of sickness. They come when I 
could sleep or read, they stay till I am weary, they force 
me to attend when my mind calls for relaxation, and to 
speak when my powers will hardly actuate my tongue. 
The amusements and consolations of langour and depres- 
sion are conferred by familiar and domestick companions, 
which can be visited or called at will, and can occasion- 
ally be quitted or dismissed, who do not obstruct accom- 
modation by ceremony, or destroy indolence by awaken- 
ing effort. 

Such society I had with Levet and Williamsj such I 
had where — I am never likely to have it more. 

I wish dear Lady, to you, and my dear girls, many 
a cheerful and pious Christmas. I am, your, ^c. 



LETTER LIV. To Mrs. Piozzi. 

Dear Madam, London July 8, 1784- 

WHAT you have done, however I may lament it, I 
have no pretence to resent, as it has not been injurious to 
me; I therefore breathe out one sigh more of tenderness, 
perhaps useless, but at least sincere. 

I wish that God may grant you every blessing, that 
you may be happy in this world for its short continuance, 
and eternally happy in a better state; and whatever I can 
contribute to your happiness I am very ready to repay, 
for that kindness which soothed twenty years of a life 
radically wretched. 

Do not think slightly of the advice which I now pre- 
sume to offer. Prevail upon Mr. Piozzi to settle in En- 
gland: you may live here with more dignity than in 



LETTERS. 375 

Italy, and with more security; your rank will be higher 
and your fortune more under your own eye. I desire not 
to detail all my reasons, but every argument of prudence 
and interest is for England, and only some phantoms of 
imagination seduce you to Italy. 

I am afraid however that my counsel is vain, yet I have 
eased my heart by giving it. 

When Queen Mary took the resolution of sheltering 
herself in England, the Archbishop of St. Andrew's, at- 
tempting to dissuade her, attended on her journey; and 
when they came to the irremeable stream that separat- 
ed the two kingdoms, walked by her side into the water, 
in the middle of which he seized her bridle, and with 
earnestness proportioned to her danger and his own af- 
fection pressed her to return. The Queen went forward. 
— If the parallel reaches thus far, may it go no further. 
The tears stand in my eyes. 

I am going into Derbyshire, and hope to be followed 
by your good wishes, for I am, with great affection, 
your, ^r. 



PRAYERS 



COMPOSED BY 



SAMUEL JOHNSON, LL. D. 



On my Birth-Day, 

September^, 1738. 

O GOD, the Creator and Preserver of all mankind, 
Father of all mercies, I thine unworthy servant, do give 
thee most humble thanks, for all thy goodness and lov- 
ing kindness to me. I bless thee for my creation, pre- 
servation, and redemption, for the knowledge of thy Son 
Jesus Christ, for the means of grace and the hope of 
glory. In the days of childhood and youth, in the midst 
of weakness, blindness, and danger, Thou hast protected 
me; amidst afflictions of mind, body, and estate, Thou 
hast supported me; and amidst vanity and wickedness. 
Thou hast spared me. Grant, O merciful Father, that I 
may have a lively sense of thy mercies. Create in me a 
contrite heart, that I may worthily lament my sins and 
acknowledge my wickedness, and obtain remission and 
i forgiveness through the satisfaction of Jesus Christ. And, 
O Lord, enable me, by thy grace, to redeem the time I 
have spent in sloth, vanity, and wickedness; to make use 
of thy gifts to the honour of thy name; to lead a new life 
in thy faith, fear, and love; and finally to obtain everlast- 
ing life. Grant this, Almighty Lord, for the merits and 



PRAYERS. 3/5 

through the mediation of our most holy and blessed Sa- 
viour Jesus Christ; to whom, with Thee and the Holy 
Ghost, Three Persons and one God, be all honour and 
glory, world without end. Amen. 

Transcribed June 26, 1768. 
This is the first solemn prayer of which I have a copy 

Whether I composed any before this I question. 

Prayer on the Rambler. 

ALMIGHTY God, the giver of all good things, with- 
out whose help all labour is ineffectual, and withoat 
whose grace all wisdom is folly; grant, I beseech Thee, 
that in this my undertaking, thy Holy Spirit may not be 
withheld from me; but that I may promote thy glory, 
and the salvation both of myself and others; grant this, 
O Lord, for the sake of Jesus Christ. Amen. 



Comfio&ed by me on the Death of my Wife^ and refiosited 
amon^ her Memorials^ May 8, 1752. 

Deus exaudi— — . Heu! 

April 24, 1752. 

ALMIGHTY and most merciful Father, who lovest 
those whom Thou punishest, and turnest away thy anger 
from the penitent, look down with pity upon my sorrows, 
and grant that the affliction which it has pleased Thee 
to bring upon me, may awaken my conscience, enforce 
my resolutions of a better life, and impress upon me 
such conviction of thy power and goodness, that I may 
place in Thee my only felicity, and endeavour to please 
Thee in all my thoughts, words, and actions. Grant, O 
Lord, that I may not languish m fruitless and unavailing 
sorrow, but that I may consider from whose hand all good 



376 PRAYERS. 

and evil is received, and may remember that I am pun- 
ished for my sins, and hope for comfort only by repent- 
ance. Grant. O merciful God, that by the assistance of 
thy Holy Spirit I may repent, and be comforted, obtain 
that peace which the world cannot give, pass the residue 
of my life in humble resignation and cheerful obedience; 
and when it shall please Thee to call me from this mortal 
state, resign myself into thy hands with faith and confi- 
dence, and finally obtain mercy and everlasting happiness, 
for the sake of Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. 



■ May 6, 1752. 

O LORD, our heavenly Father, without whom all 
purposes are frustrate, all efforts are vain, grant me the 
assistance of thy Holy Spirit, that I may not sorrow as 
one without hope, but may now return to the duties of my 
present state with humble confidence in thy protection, 
and sa govern my thoughts and actions, that neither 
business may withdraw my mind from Thee, nor idle- 
ness lay me open to vain imaginations; that neither 
praise may fill me with pride, nor censure with discon- 
tent; but that in the changes of this life, I may fix my 
heart upon the reward which Thou hast promised to 
them that serve Thee; and that whatever things are 
true, whatever things are honest, whatever things are 
just, whatever are pure, whatever are lovely, whatever 
are of good report, wherein there is virtue, wherein there 
is praise, 1 may think upon and do, and obtain mercy 
and everlasting happiness. Grant this, O Lord, for the 
sake of Jesus Christ. Amen. 



PRAYERS. 377 

Fl. Lacr. 
March 28, in the morning, 1754. 

O GOD, who on this day wert pleased to take from me 
my dear wife, sanctify to me my sorrows and reflections. 
Grant that I may renew and practise the resolutions 
which I made when thy afflicting hand was upon me. 
Let the remembrance of thy judgments, by which my 
wife is taken away, awaken me to repentance; and the 
sense of thy mercy, by which I am spared, strengthen 
my hope and confidence in Thee, that by the assistance 
and comfort of thy Holy Spirit, I may so pass through 
things temporal, as finally to gain everlasting happiness; 
and to pass by a holy and happy death, into the joy 
which Thou hast prepared for those that love Thee. 
Grant this, O Lord, for the sake of Jesus Christ. Amen. 



Jan. 23, 1759. 
The day on which my dear Mother was buried. 

ALMIGHTY God, merciful Father, in whose hands 
are life and death, sanctify unto me the sorrow which I 
now feel. Forgive me whatever I have done unkindly to 
my mother, and whatever I have omitted to do kindly. 
Make me to remember her good precepts and good ex- 
ample, and to reform my life according to thy holy word, 
that I may lose no more opportunities of good. I am 
sorrowful, O Lord; let not my sorrow be Avithout fruit. 
Let it be followed by holy resolutions, and lasting amend- 
ment, that wlien I shall die like my mother, I may be 
received to everlasting life. 

I commend, O Lord, so far as it may be lawful, into 
thy hands, the soul of my departed mother, beseeching 
Thee to grant her whatever is most beneficial to her in 
her present state. 



378 PRAYERS. 

O Lord, grant me thy Holy Spirit, and have merc) 
upon me for Jesus Christ's sake. Amen. 

And, O Lord, grant unto me that am now about to 
return to the common comforts and business of the 
world, such moderation in all enjoyments, such diligence 
in honest labour, and such purity of mind, that, amidst 
the changes, miseries, or pleasures of life, I may keep 
my mind fixed upon Thee; and improve every day in 
grace, till I shall be received into thy kingdom of eter- 
nal happiness. 



March 25, 1759. 

ALMIGHTY God, heavenly Father, who hast gra- 
ciously prolonged my life to this time, and by the change 
of outward things which 1 am now to make, callest me to 
a change of inward affections, and to reformation of my 
thoughts, words, and practices; vouchsafe, merciful Lord, 
that this call may not be in vain. Forgive me whatever has 
been amiss in the state which I am now leaving, idleness, 
and neglect of thy word and v\'orship. Grant me the grace 
of thy Holy Spirit, that the course which I am now be- 
ginning may proceed according to thy laws, and end in 
the enjoyment of thy favour. Give me, O Lord, pardon 
and peace, that I may serve Thee with humble confi- 
dence, and after this lifie, enjoy thy presence in eternal 
happiness. 

And, O Lord, so far as it may be lawful for me, I com- 
mend to thy Fatherly goodness, my father, my brother, 
my wife, my mother. I beseech thee to look mercifully 
upon them, and grant them whatever may most promote 
their present and eternal joy. ^ 

O Lord, hear my prayers for Jesus Christ's sake, to 
whom, with Thee and the Holy Ghost, Three Persons 
and One God, be all honour and glory, world without 
end. Amen. 



PRAYERS. 379 

O Lord, let the change, which I am now making in 
outward things, produce in me such a change of man- 
ners, as may fit me for the great change through which 
my wife has passed. 

Jan 1, prima mane, 1770. 

ALM IG HT Y God, by whose mercy I am permitted to 
behold the beginning of another year, succour with thy 
help, and bless with thy favour, the creature whom Thou 
vouchsafest to preserve. Mitigate, if it shall seem best 
unto Thee, the diseases of my body, and compose the 
disorders of my mind. Dispel my terrors: and grant, that 
the time which Thou shalt yet allow me, may not pass 
unprofitably away. Let not pleasure seduce me, idleness 
lull me, or misery depress me. Let me perform to thy 
glory, and the good of my fellow-creatures, the work 
which Thou shalt yet appoint me; and grant, that as I draw 
nearer to my dissolution, I may, by the help of thy 
Holy Spirit, feel my knowledge of Thee increased, my 
hope exaltedv and my faith strengthened; that when the 
hour which is coming shall come, I may pass by a holy 
death to everlasting happiness, for the sake of Jesus 
Christ our Lord. Amen. 



January 1, 2 P. M. 1777. 

ALMIGHTY Lord, merciful P'ather, vouchsafe to 
accept the thanks which I now presume to offer Thee, 
for the prolongation of my life. Grant, O Lord, that as 
my days are multiplied, my good resolutions may be 
strengthened, my power of resisting temptations increas- 
ed, and my struggles with snares and obstructions invig- 
orated. Relieve the infirmities both of my mind and 
body. Grant me such strength as my duties may require, 
and such diligence as may improve those opportunities 
of good that shall be offered me. Deliver me from the 



580 PRAYERS. 

intrusion of evil thoughts. Grant me true repentance of 
my past life; and as I draw nearer and nearer to the 
grave, strengthen my faith, enliven my hope, extend my 
charity, and purify my desires; and so help me, by thy 
Holy Spirit, that when it shall be thy pleasure to call 
me hence, I may be received to everlasting happiness, 
fbr the sake of thy Son Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. 
Our Father- 



Sept. 18, 1779. 
ALMIGHTY God, Creator of all things, in whose 
hands are life and death, glory be to Thee for all thy 
mercies, and for the prolongation of my life to the com- 
mon age of man. Pardon me, O gracious God, all the 
offences which in the course of seventy years I have 
committed against thy holy laws, and all negligences of 
those duties which Thou hast required. Look with pity 
upon me; take net from me thy Holy Spirit; but enable 
me to pass the days which Thou shalt yet vouchsafe to 
grant me in thy fear, and to thy glory; and accept, O 
Lord, the remains of a misspent hfe, that when thou shalt 
call me to another state, I may be received to everlast- 
ing happiness, for the sake of Jesus Christ our Lord. 
Amen. 



June 22, 1781. 

ALMIGHTY God, who art the giver of all good, en- 
able me to remember with due thankfulness, the comforts 
and advantages v/hich I have enjoyed by the friendship 
of Henry Thrale; for whom, so far as it is lawful, I 
humbly implore thy mercy in his present state. O Lord, 
since thou hast been pleased to call him from this world, 
look with mercy on those whom he has left; continue to 
succour me by such means as are best for me, and repay 



PRAYERS. 38 i 

tb his relations the kindness which I have received from 
him; protect them in this world from temptations and 
calamities, and grant them happiness in the world to 
come, for Jesus Christ's sake. Amen. 



On leaving Mr. Thrale*s Family. 

October 6, 1782. 

ALMIGHTY God, Father of all mercy, help me, by 
\hj grace, that I may with humble and sincere thank- 
fulness remember the comforts and conveniencies which 
I have enjoyed at this place, and that I may resign them 
with holy submission, equally trusting in thy protection 
\vhen Thou givest and when Thou takest away. Hare 
mercy upon me, O Lord have mercy upon me. 

To thy fatherly protection, O Lord I commend this 
family. Bless, guide, and defend them, that they may 
so pass through this world, as finally to enjoy in thy 
presence everlasting happiness, for Jesus Christ's sake. 
Amen. 



[The following Prayer was composed and used by Doc- 
tor Johnson previous to his receiving the Sacrament 
of the Lord's Supper, on Sunday December 5, 1784.3 

ALMIGHTY and most merciful Father, I am now, 
as to human eyes it seems, about to commemorate for 
the last time*, the death of thy Son Jesus Christ our 
Saviour and Redeemer. Grant, O Lord, that my whole 
hope and confidence may be in his merits and thy mercy; 
enforce and accept my imperfect repentance; make this 
commemoration available to the confirmation of my faith; 

» He died the 13th following. 



382 PRAYERS. 

the establishment of my hope, and the enlargement 
my charity; and make the death of thy Son Jesus Chrisr 
eifectual to ray redemption. Have mercy upon me, an< 
pardon the multitude of my offences. Bless my ' 
have mercy upon all men. Support me by thy , 
Spirit, in the days of weakness, and at the hour of deati. 
and receive me, at my death, to everlasting happiness; 
for the sake of Jesus Chi'ist. Amen. 






I 






Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. 
Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 
1 ^ Jp "^^ Treatment Date: March 2009 

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